


One Wild and Precious Life

by EnduringParadox



Category: Pilgrimage (2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Sex, Asshole Geraldus, Fake relationship that quickly turns into a real relationship, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Masturbation, Porn with some plot, Romance, Sleazebag Raymond, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-24
Updated: 2020-09-28
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:00:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 20,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24886495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EnduringParadox/pseuds/EnduringParadox
Summary: David's friends want him to relax and have some fun for once in his life, so they arrange for him to take a vacation with Diarmuid, who's looking for a partner in crime in order to take advantage of St. Matthias's Seaside Resort and Spa's romantic couples package. They'll enjoy a week's worth of decadent delights and amenities--if they can convincingly act as a lovey-dovey couple under the strict scrutiny of the resort's staff.But David falls fast and hard for Diarmuid, and the true difficulty will be hiding his attraction so that the two of them can still have an enjoyable time.A modern AU with a fake relationship that quickly turns into a real relationship.
Relationships: Brother Diarmuid/The Mute
Comments: 48
Kudos: 58





	1. The Set Up

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is literally just a way to pamper David and Diarmuid and let them have fun.
> 
> I don't think there's any resort that cares if you purchase a romantic vacation package when you're not a part of a real couple, but this is just a silly indulgent story anyway.

**_Searching for a coconspirator to get into a happy fun romantic couples retreat!!_ **

_Hi there! I’m Diarmuid!_

_I was looking for a vacation destination and noticed that many resorts have very reasonably priced couples packages with a great deal of fancy and fun activities to take part in. St. Matthias’s Seaside Resort and Spa, with their Romantic Week in the Sweetheart Suite, is particularly enticing. However, I am currently in between men and my friends are busy, so I would have no one to relax with. :(_

_But, that’s why I’m posting this personal ad! :)_

_I have a date already picked out. If you’re willing to pay for half of the couple’s package price and put up with me for five days, then the two of us can enjoy our time at a luxurious resort in a fancy hotel with fine dining, spa days, theater shows, and more! I don’t mind at all if you want to do things on your own, just know that we’re going to be cohabitating for a little while and we will have to act lovey-dovey enough to convince the staff we’re a couple! If they realize we’re faking then they’ll kick us out—resorts take this kind of thing VERY seriously. :(_

_Serious offers only!! Gross messages will just be ignored and deleted!! If you’re interested then we can chat a bit and meet before our scheduled romantic couples vacation! :) :) :)_

**_RE: Searching for a coconspirator to get into a happy fun romantic couples retreat!!_ **

_Hey there Diarmuid,_

_My name is Alex and I have a friend who I think really deserves a nice relaxing time. I think he would be perfect for your vacation plans. If it is not too weird me and some of my other buddies would be willing to pay for our friend David’s share if you could take him with you._

_He is an ex-serviceman really buff so you would have some eye candy to look at at least but he is not a creep because he is also pretty quiet and does not take the time for himself to get out and meet new people or have fun. We would like to surprise him with a vacation. If that is alright with you we could talk to him and set up a meeting so you know he is cool and not a murderer or anything. Though I am not sure if he is capable of acting lovey-dovey._

_Thanks,_

_Alex_

**_RE:RE: Searching for a coconspirator to get into a happy fun romantic couples retreat!!_ **

_Good morning Alex,_

_That’s such a nice thing to do for your friend. :) If David is interested then I’d be happy to meet and talk with him. And if he’s okay with a quick hug or kiss on the cheek every once in a while, then he’ll do just fine. :)_

_Kind regards,_

_Diarmuid_

* * *

“What the fuck,” David said. His friends had his best interests in mind, but that didn’t change the fact that he was one hairsbreadth away from being fucking furious. “You can’t just— _plan_ a goddamn vacation for me. I got a job. Got rent to pay. Could have other shit to do that week.”

His friend wasn’t fazed. “Look, brother,” Alex said, “First thing’s first. We all know you ain’t got shit to do that week because all you do is eat, shit, work, and sleep. Yeah? Second, I can and I did plan a vacation for you. Well, this Diarmuid did—nice guy, we been emailing. And second thing—wait, fuck, third thing—me and the guys, you know, we got the money together, boss man’s giving you time off, shift’s covered, so you better go to this place full of fun, fancy shit with this guy and live a little.” He took a swig of his beer. Probably went down smooth with all his bullshit. “Construction work is just work. Puts food on the table. But it’s no life, right? We just want you to get out and relax and maybe eat some expensive food. We love ya, buddy.”

David sighed. “Jesus Christ. How well you know this guy?”

“Well, like I said, we just been emailing back and forth. But he seems, you know, chill and all. Just wants to have a good vacation for a good price and needs a buddy to play boyfriend because these places don’t like it when you buy the package and you’re not a real couple? Some shit like that. Sounds kind of weird to me, but you know, maybe. Like a regulation or something.”

“What’s this place like? This—this Saint—St. Matthew’s—“

“St. Matthias’s Seaside Resort and Spa. And it is decadent as fuck, my friend. Sing and dancing dinner shows, sushi chef, those restaurants where they give you like, thirty little plates of food with a wine pairing for each dish, cucumber on your eyes, mud face mask, all that.”

Decadent was not a word that David had ever used to describe anything in his entire life. To find it in Alex’s vocabulary was a bit of a surprise. But it was an intriguing idea. Go to a nice place for a few days and not worry about anything about whether to get breakfast or sleep in and go for brunch. “Got a gym? A bar?”

Alex frowned. “Well, yeah, but like, broaden your horizons, brother.”

“My vacation,” David said with a shrug.

The meeting place was a little café whose demographic definitely did not include the likes of David. It was extremely floral, for one. David wasn’t ashamed to admit he enjoyed the sight of flowers, but the place had flowery wallpaper that would’ve been better suited the bedroom of a middle-class Victorian girl with a collection of dead-eyed porcelain dolls than a place that sold over-priced coffee and pastries. And the numerous vases of fresh cut flowers placed on the counters, in the corners, in the middle of the tables irritated his nose.

And the seats were far too small—wire, garden patio kind of chairs. If David sat the wrong way he might’ve just crumpled the seat’s legs and fallen right on his ass. Every time he shifted uncomfortably it creaked with alarm.

Then the girl at the counter had given him a funny look when he’d ordered just a small black coffee.

“Not even cream or sugar or anything? Or like, a croissant or a cinnamon roll? Well, all right. Enjoy.” The confusion in her voice indicated that she was not trying to up sell him but was just completely baffled by his choice of beverage and decision to not eat. Which was—people obviously still drank black coffee. Construction work ran on muscle and black coffee. But maybe not here, where there seemed to be more cupcakes covered in some sort of edible glitter than anything else.

Alex was on his fifth. Two elderly women in their Sunday best at the table across from them watched with fascination and horror as he inhaled pastry after pastry.

David turned away from appalled expressions and elbowed Alex in the side. “Hey, asshole. Eat like a human.”

His friend coughed and thumped his fist to his chest. “Jesus. Right. Sorry, these are just real good. Try one?”

Frosting hit his fingers when he shoved the cupcake away. “No. What’s this guy look like?”

Alex shrugged. “Eh, dunno. Never really came up. Exchanging photos or anything. But he comes here a lot, apparently, so the cashier girl knows him. I told her we were waiting for him when I went up to get the uh, the cupcakes.”

Was that why she kept shooting them weird looks? David caught her eye and raised his coffee cup to her. She frowned at him and went back to rearranging the pastry case. The bell over the entrance rang merrily for the next ten minutes as people filed in and out, shuffling over to the seating or carrying out boxes of cakes and bags of cookies.

Then, following one miraculous ring of the bell, an actual angel walked through the door. Small, slim, with big brown eyes and curly brown hair and a bright smile. People grinned and waved when they noticed him come in and the cashier girl greeted him with cheer that had not brought out for David and Alex. David felt the corners of his own lips quirk up at the young man’s happiness. The only one who didn’t seem pleased was the lean, scowling man with him. A boyfriend?

“Oh, shit,” Alex whispered, “She’s pointing them over here. I think that’s Diarmuid.” David could only stare as the young man looked in their direction, eyes lighting up, and made his way toward the table with the scowling man in tow.

Alex leaned in close. “Okay, I know I set all this up, but you don’t even really want to go, so let me be David and you be Alex.”

With vehemence that surprised even him, David growled, “ _Fuck off._ ”

“You fucking owe me so much.” He waved at the two men. They quickly took the two remaining seats opposite of David and Alex.

The young man was vibrant and bubbly and bursting with excitement. “Hello! It’s so nice to finally meet the both of you in person. I’m Diarmuid, and this is Rua, he’s my friend—he’s here to make sure I don’t get kidnapped.” He chuckled and patted Rua's arm. Rua crossed his arms and stared across the table, frowning.

Alex joked, “Hey, that’s why I’m here, too.” He shook David’s shoulders. “This guy? Can’t let David go out anywhere alone, or we’re afraid he’ll get snatched up.”

David grimaced, but Diarmuid replied, smiling widely, “Oh, I can certainly see why.”

“Oh, Lord,” Rua muttered. With one quick movement, he pulled his phone out of his pocket and took a number of quick shots of David, leveling a glare at him. “Look, I think this is a stupid-ass idea, but Diarmuid’s set on it. If you do turn out to be serial killer, I got your photo _and_ your address—“

“My _address?_ ”

Alex looked sheepish, “Sorry, I may have gotten a bit overzealous when I was telling Diarmuid about you—“

“All good things!” Diarmuid chimed in.

“So if Diarmuid disappears I’m going to bring a country-wide manhunt down on your ass. I’ll paste your face all over the news outlets,” Rua finished. He turned his phone around to show them a photo of David’s befuddled expression and Alex sitting beside him with frosting in his stubble.

“Hell, David, you need to let a man know when he’s got something on his face,” Alex mumbled.

Diarmuid said, “Rua’s just overprotective. I don’t think we’ll have anything to worry about, right, David? We’ll look out for each other. This will be fun.” He looked so cheerful and earnest and _pretty_ that David could only agree.

“Yeah,” David replied, glancing from an unimpressed Rua to Diarmuid’s beaming face, “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of him.”

In truth, Alex talked more than David, who got along with him. After all, he’d been the one sending messages to Diarmuid for the past few weeks. But Diarmuid paid close attention to David, asked him numerous questions and seemed pleased at even the most monosyllabic answer. He had an attentive, gentle expression when David spoke, as if what he said actually mattered—like it’d be important to know that he’d been working construction for the past five years, that he’d never really been to one of these places at all, let alone while masquerading as another man’s boyfriend, and that he preferred eggs sunny side up rather than scrambled which was—oddly personal, really.

He left the café with Diarmuid’s number and a bag of croissants that the young man had insisted he take as a gift.

“They’re _so_ yummy,” he said, pressing the bag into David’s hands. “See you soon, okay?”

And fuck if they weren’t. David ate two on the way back to his car, slapping Alex’s hand away from the bag when he reached for them.

* * *

Three days later they were on their way to St. Matthias’s Seaside Resort and Spa. It wasn’t as long and arduous a drive as David had expected—a little less than nine hours, but they’d gotten an early start. Diarmuid had asked that he be ready to go at 5:00 AM in order to avoid the traffic, which was smart. They watched the sun rise as they drove along miles of nearly empty road. The route weren’t complicated either, but Diarmuid had also insisted on a GPS as well as a paper map with directions that David read out loud to him so they could make sure they were on the right path. It was careful planning, which David appreciated, but unnecessary, especially near the end of the drive when all roads led to one single destination: St. Matthias's Seaside Resort and Spa.

The place was the size of a college campus. They had to go through a goddamn automated wrought-iron gate. Surrounded on all sides by finely trimmed hedges and rose bushes David felt as though he were entering some sort of—palace or something. How much had this trip actually cost? He was going to stick out like a sore thumb, especially next to Diarmuid, who looked like he would fit right in at a country club or a restaurant with a dress code where you had to where a shirt with a collar and buttons. And would anyone believe that a guy like _David_ could’ve landed a man like Diarmuid? He was the exact opposite of David. Just—an inherently pleasant person. And had the warmest eyes and prettiest lashes that David had ever seen—

Diarmuid glanced at him, smiling. “This could be the place where you propose to me.”

“ _What_ ,” said David.

“For our cover, you know,” Diarmuid said, “You’re a bit nervous, right?”

David nodded dumbly.

“So we’ll just work that in. This is our first really, really big romantic getaway and you’re just a big bundle of nerves because you’re planning on proposing at some point. If anyone asks, just say something like that.”  
“Will they really care? If they find out we aren’t really—”

For the first time a frown marred Diarmuid’s features. “Oh, yes, they will, David. Believe me. Resort staff takes this kind of this _very_ seriously. Be on your best boyfriend behavior when we’re out and about.”

When they parked Diarmuid hurried to the passenger side door to let David out. “After you, honey,” he said with a wink.

There wasn’t much to their luggage, just one small rolling suitcase each. David had a week’s worth of clothes and extra for exercising and, upon Diarmuid’s advice, a pair of swim trunks. He’d wanted a pair of just plain black but he’d only been able to find ones in light blue with a pineapple pattern. But then there was supposed to be a hot tub in their hotel room, so it wasn’t like anyone was going to see him in them except Diarmuid.

Though _that_ thought—that was a bit—

“Good afternoon!” Diarmuid chirped to the desk clerk. “How are you doing today?” He radiated good cheer.

The desk clerk smiled. “I’m doing just fine, thank you for asking! And yourself?”

“We’re doing great. We just drove in—is it all right if we check-in now?” Diarmuid clung to his arm. “The reservation should be under Diarmuid and David.”

Her fingers flew across her keyboard in series of taps and clacks. Her smile widened. “Okay, got you right here. _The Sweetheart Suite_. Fourth floor, room 410. And access to the _Lovebird’s Lounge_ , a pass for a _Starlight Special Couple’s Dining Experience_ and _A Night of Sensuous Delights Lover’s Spa Package_.” Each name she rattled off was either eye rolling or startling to David, but Diarmuid squealed with excitement and hugged his arm.

“Oooh, yay! David, this is going to be so much fun!”

His joy was infectious. David couldn’t help but smile down at him. “Glad you’re happy,” he said.

Diarmuid looked up at him with his huge brown eyes and long lashes. “I am! I’m so happy we’re here together. Thank you for coming with me.”

Something in his expression made David’s heart go into overdrive. He couldn’t speak; his mouth dried, his tongue seemed too large and clumsy, and he’d suddenly lost the ability to organize words into coherent sentences. Instead he stared, utterly blown away by Diarmuid’s happy, cheerful face.

The desk clerk clucked her tongue. “You two are adorable. I hope you enjoy your stay.” She sounded amused.

“Don’t worry,” Diarmuid said, “We will.” He gave David another wink and giggled.

David’s chest ached with a sudden blossom of heat and a burst of panic as he realized that Diarmuid wouldn’t have to worry about others thinking they weren’t an actual couple. The attraction and desire blooming through David’s body was very much real. And now he was stuck for the next few days taking advantage of a romantic vacation with the Diarmuid, who only wanted to enjoy the week and have fun.

His faux-boyfriend noticed his distress and interpreted it as anxiety over their roles. He gave David a quick peck on the cheek and whispered in his ear, “We’ll be just fine. Just relax.”

“Yeah,” David choked out. “Of course.”

As the bellhops carted off their two packs of luggage, Diarmuid laced their fingers together and smiled.


	2. The Suite

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> David and Diarmuid tour the suite where they'll be staying for the next five days. It's really nice.
> 
> A little while later, David attempts to solve a problem.

Truth be told he’d expected something gaudy. Tacky, like a stay in a room at one of the less Vegas casinos and hotels. A personal bar, maybe, and couches in leopard print or pleather, a—a heart shaped bed that vibrated, all crowded in one room. But as he and Diarmuid stepped into the couple’s suite, David realized that the lounge itself was bigger than his apartment. And there was still the bedroom, the bathroom, and a balcony to explore. If they took the time to measure the place, corner-to-corner, it would probably turn out bigger than the house he’d grown up it.

Luxury, he supposed.

In the middle of the lounge was a large wooden table with a glass top, teeming with gifts. A bottle of champagne in a glass ice bucket with two champagne flutes at its side. A vase of flowers filled with a rainbow of colors: orange lilies and dark pink roses, bluebells, purple hydrangeas. He pointed them out to Diarmuid, one by one, preening not a little at how impressed the young man was.

“Oh, David, how’d you learn all that?”

“Been around awhile. Picked up a few things in my time.” He always had a fondness for flowers, really. Not something you readily admitted in the Corps or in construction. A fake boyfriend, however, seemed a fine confidant. Diarmuid, an even better one.

But Diarmuid’s reaction left him fumbling for words. He squeezed David’s bicep and grinned. “You certainly have. What else do you have to teach me, I wonder?”

Could Diarmuid see him blush? David certainly felt his face warm at the words. He hid his embarrassment in a cough and pretended to look more closely at the items on the table. Next to the flowers was a small card. He picked it up.

“What’s this?”

Diarmuid peered at it. “Ah-ha! That’s our breakfast and-or brunch card. We fill it out and leave it for the staff so they know what time we want our breakfast and-or brunch. They’ll leave it out in the hall for us on a fancy cart.”

“Why?”

“Oh, it’s so they won’t, you know. _Interrupt_ any intimate couple’s activities.” He winked. “Do you have a preference?”

“No,” David rasped.

“Then I’ll put down eight o’clock. A big breakfast to start out our mornings! I made an itinerary for all the events they’re having this week and all the fun things we could do, so we’ll need our energy." He paused. "Um, that is, if you want to do that. Sorry, we don’t have to hang out if you have other things you want to do.”

David said, “I’m not really—this is my first time doing this kind of thing. So, I think—I think maybe a strict schedule for, uh, for our relaxing vacation would be good.”

Diarmuid laughed. “Okay! Great! We’ll paint the town red, item by item.”

* * *

The couple’s suite was right next to the beach. The balcony, the size of a patio, provided a breathtaking view of the waves crashing against the sand below.

“Did you pack your swim trunks, David?” Diarmuid asked.

He thought of the light blue shorts dotted with pineapples and suppressed a wince. “Uh, yeah.”

“Good! I like the pool, but there’s just something about swimming at the beach. But they have hot tubs as well, so we could try out those, too. If you wanted.”

The image of Diarmuid, warm and wet and flushed and content, pressed against him, wearing nothing but a pair of short swim trunks, whirled through his mind like a tornado. David made a noise that he hoped Diarmuid would take as thoughtful consideration rather than the suppression of lust that it was.

As they walked through the rest of the lounge Diarmuid lightly ran his fingers along the wall. Besides the big glass table, there was sizeable mahogany bookshelf in the corner, a gigantic Victorian style couch laden with round pillows, and a small kitchen area with marble countertops, a coffee machine, and a fridge.

Jesus, they could just spend the next five days in this room alone. David was impressed. Diarmuid seemed pleased as well, his smile growing wider with every step.

When they walked into the bedroom Diarmuid gasped. Every bit of it was lush and sensuous. A floor of dark polished wood covered with a Turkish rug. Fresh candles set on the chest of drawers. And an enormous canopy bed, its headboard pressed against the wall, its curtains sheer, its sheets and blankets completely white save for a dark red border. A number of similarly colored pillows sat against the headboard. On top of the bed was the one romantic accoutrement that David had expected: a scattering of fresh, pink rose petals all along the sheets.

What he did not expect was for Diarmuid, who had practically been vibrating with excitement beside him as they took in the room, to give a happy cry of delight, fling his shoes off, and jump onto the bed like someone diving into a pile of leaves. He rolled around the sheets, giggling, and called David over. “ _Oooh_ , David, it’s all silk. Come here, feel this, it’s _so good_.” He rolled onto his back, ran a hand down the bedspread, and gave it an inviting pat.

David swallowed a sudden burst of anxiety as he approached the bed. He pinched a bit of fabric between his thumb and forefinger, rubbing the silk between them. Smooth, soft, and cool to the touch. “It’s really nice,” he said.

“Which side of the bed do you want?”

“What?”

“Which side of the bed do you usually sleep on, David?”

“N-none,” David stammered, face heating up, “I mean, I don’t need to—I’ll take the couch.” It wouldn’t even be much of a hardship; the couch in the lounge looked like it cost more than David made in three months.

Frowning, Diarmuid said, “Oh, David, I don’t want you to do that. We can share. There’s plenty of room.”

There was. The bed could fit a platoon. But David wouldn’t be able to rest knowing that Diarmuid was dozing beside him, clad in pajamas and wrapped up in silk sheets. He’d break into a cold sweat over fear of falling asleep, moving, and accidentally kicking Diarmuid off the bed or elbowing him in the face or—or infinitely worse, waking up wrapped around him and _hard_.

So he drummed up an excuse. “Better for my back,” David mumbled, “Muscles get tight. Just. From the Marines, construction, you know. Don’t worry.” It wasn’t even really a lie. David generally went to sleep sore and woke up sore most days.

Diarmuid looked sad. “I’m sorry, I didn’t think about that.” But he brightened just as quickly as a thought seemed to occur to him. “Well, we’ll just have to make use of A Night of Sensuous Delights Lover’s Spa Package, won’t we? Speaking of, we haven’t seen the bathroom yet—“

As he scrambled off the bed he grabbed David’s massive hand in his small one and dragged him to the bathroom.

The main thing that David noticed was the enormous bathtub built into the wall. Then Diarmuid murmured, “Goodness, I bet we could both fit into that thing,” and it was the only thing he could focus on as his companion wandered about, peering at the two large bathroom mirrors and the cabinet filled with toiletries.

“Oh! Essential oils! That’ll be fun!” He turned to David, smiling. “We have just about everything a couple could want in this suite, don’t you think?”

David rubbed the back of his head. “Just about,” he said.

* * *

They spent the next hour unpacking. David caught sight of Diarmuid’s pajamas—dark blue silk shorts and tank top with black lace trim—and promptly walked into the bathroom, shut the door, and set his toothbrush on the counter. He resisted the urge to slam his head into the wall and instead opted to lay on the floor for a few minutes, forehead against the cold tile.

How the fuck was he going to survive this week?

By the time he got out Diarmuid had laced his shoes back up and slung his bag around his shoulders. “I’m going to give the front desk the breakfast card and get a lay of the land. Do you want to come with me?”

David shook his head. “Think I’ll actually—stay in. Take a—take a bubble bath, maybe.” He had never taken a bubble bath in his entire life. “Drive was kind of long. Just, you know, relax a bit, before we try and hit everything on your itinerary.”

Diarmuid beamed. “Oh, great, you’re jumping right into the spirit of things. Have fun! I’ll bring you back something.”

It’d be weird if Diarmuid came back and David _hadn’t_ had a bath, so he made his way to the bathroom and unceremoniously stripped. He glanced at the cabinet as he threw his clothes into the hamper.

There were numerous scented oils in small containers and just as many large bottles of bubble bath in large, glass bottles with satin bows tied around the necks. Mint—that was a more invigorating, a wake-you-up kind of thing, wasn’t it? And lavender and chamomile were for sleep. There was still plenty of daylight. David just wanted to have a bath in the middle of the afternoon and then dry off and continue on. People did that, right?

He finally chose the bottle of rose and vanilla bubble bath. It looked a bit like the bottle of champagne on the table in the lounge. _Absolutely scrumptious!_ the label assured.

Hell, if the guys could see him now...

David turned the faucet on and watched the bathtub slowly fill. When he drizzled in the bubble bath a flurry of bubbles blossomed in the hot water. He waited until he was satisfied with both the amount of water and the amount of bubbles and carefully slid into the bath.

The loud groan that left his throat would’ve been embarrassing if there’d been anyone else around to hear it. God, it was like the water was seeping right into each and every ache and pain. He drifted further down into the tub.

The temperature was just right and the bubble bath had been a good choice. Somehow it made his skin feel smoother. Some sort of oil or lotion maybe? And the smell was nice. Floral and familiar and like—like—

Oh, _fuck,_ it smelt like the bed, its sheets covered in rose petals and Diarmuid happily squirming against the silk.

A fresh wave of heat rolled through David’s body and gathered between his legs. Underneath the steaming bathwater his cock swelled, aching for touch. He bit his lip. When he wrapped his fingers around himself he thought of Diarmuid’s face.

Oh, God, he couldn’t. That would be—that’d be really fucked up. He couldn’t just jerk off to the thought of his roommate for the next week, not when Diarmuid was so cheerful and kind to him, so sweet, so vibrant, so gorgeous, with those big brown eyes and bright smile and those _freckles._

David closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He tried to will his erection away, to clear his mind, just soak in the bath and relax, but all he could smell was the scent of roses and all he could see behind his eyes were Diarmuid’s long, pale legs and so he reached between his own and gave himself a few rough, desperate strokes.

Just this once. Just this once, and then he’d get it out of his system and Diarmuid would never know and the two of them could walk on the beach and drink piña coladas and sunbathe or some shit. Whatever Diarmuid wanted to do. Whatever made him smile.

He thought of Diarmuid’s arm linked around his own, Diarmuid’s fingers squeezing his bicep, Diarmuid’s wink, and moaned.

David shifted so that instead he was kneeling on the bottom of the bathtub, one hand hooked over the lip of the tub, the other stroking his cock. Petals, the petals had been a nice touch. He’d thought kind of thing a cliché, had never seriously thought about leading a lover to a bed strewn with sweet-scented rose petals as soft as the silk they were scattered on. He remembered Diarmuid as he was, jumping into the bed and sending the petals flying around the silk sheets, brushing against his skin, laughing with glee.

Then he imagined him naked, all his pale, freckled skin on display, crawling on his hands and knees, sinking into the mattress, slowly but surely collecting the each and every petal. And David could just—grab him by the hips and sink into him. Could listen to Diarmuid’s laughter turn into cries of pleasure, feel him rocking back against him, pleading for more.

_So good_ , Diarmuid had said. The sheets had felt _so good_. How good would it feel with his cock trapped against the silk as David thrust into him? What would he sound like then?

The water sloshed around him, lapping at the side of the bathtub as he moved. He was fucking his fist in earnest now, timing it with his image of Diarmuid moaning and writhing against the sheets, scrabbling forward, grasping at the blankets, the pillows with every deep, hard thrust.

“ _Fuck_ ,” David whispered, “Oh, _fuck._ ”

Bending down and pressing kisses along every single freckle on Diarmuid’s back, working his way up his spine and over his shoulders, his neck, then gently pulling Diarmuid’s head toward him so that their lips could meet. Maybe his beard would tickle him, just a little, and the corners of Diarmuid’s eyes would crinkle like they always did when he smiled. He would laugh and grind against him and giggle, “ _David!_ ” while David just slowly rocked into him and made him feel _good_.

He came in wet, heaving moans, clutching the side of the tub while he spilled stream after stream of cum into the rippling water.

As his orgasm slowly subsided the guilt set in. David stared at the mixture of bubbles and semen and perfumed bathwater and cursed. Jesus fuck. Just a few hours into the vacation and he’d— _defiled_ the fucking bathroom. He clambered out of the tub, ignoring the chill as he onto the tile, and pulled the plug out of the drain. The room was still hot. Steam had fogged the mirrors, which was good because he couldn’t bear to look himself in the eye.

David toweled himself off and then set about scrubbing the inside of the bathtub clean, face red with shame. This was just a one off. He hadn’t been this close to anyone that wasn’t either a jarhead or a construction worker in years, and the nature of the hotel room had—had _exacerbated_ some things. Diarmuid would never know. All the young man had wanted was someone to act as his partner so that the both of them could enjoy all this fancy rich shit. And David could **_pull himself the fuck together_** for five days and make sure he had a good time.

* * *

The couch was actually pretty comfortable. David laid on it, flipping through some murder mystery he’d grabbed from the bookshelf in the corner of the room. It was a small library in itself, filled with novels all published in the past few months from a variety of genres. Science fiction, thrillers, a western here and there, and, of course, romance, but coupled with a surprisingly large number of collections of erotic photography.

He’d left those alone.

Diarmuid knocked before walking in to his own hotel room, which was just. Just really adorable. He carried a tray of hors d'oeuvres and presented them to David proudly, like a trophy. When David sat up Diarmuid promptly plopped himself down on the couch next to him.

“I got _these_ —“ Diarmuid set the tray on David’s lap. “Because I told the nice manager at one of the dining rooms that my honey spent too long on the beach today and was holed up in our room, red as a lobster. Speaking of, how was your nice, steamy bubble bath?”

David said, “Great.” There was quite the spread on the tray. Halved figs with topped with some sort of sweet cheese and pecans. Prosciutto with cubes of watermelon. Bites of toasted bread with cucumber, cream cheese, and smoked salmon. David popped a fig into his mouth to avoid saying anything incriminating.

“Great,” Diarmuid repeated. “He was really talkative. He kept offering me free drinks. It’s got to be busy, working here. Maybe he doesn’t get much time to actually chat with people?”

David said, “Huh,” around another fig as if he had no idea why a man would try to get Diarmuid to spend time with him.

“Anyway, I said I had to get back to you, and he got me this tray of appetizers! He said if you don’t feel better later I should come and see him another time. That was pretty nice of him, wasn’t it?”

What the _fuck?_ Diarmuid had told this asshole that his boyfriend was sunburned to a crisp and the guy had made a move on him? What a fucking prick. At least Diarmuid didn’t seem to have realized what the guy had been trying to do. David forced out, “Yeah, it sure was.”

Diarmuid hummed. “And I found out that there’s going to be a little party in the atrium tonight. Would you like to go to that? They’ll have an open bar. We could hang out. Mingle with some of the other guests.”

Human interaction didn’t appeal to David on a normal day, let alone during an expensive vacation where the entire point was to relax and enjoy himself. But Diarmuid looked hopeful, sweet. Like a little puppy. And-and a drink or two actually sounded nice.

“Think we could see the stars through that glass ceiling?” he asked.

The young man beamed.

That was some talent, David thought, smiling in return, to get his heart nearly beating right out of his chest with just that joyful, sweet expression. To have him ready to grant Diarmuid's every request just to see that look on his face.

God, he was so fucked.


	3. Salt and Sweat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The party at the atrium bar is eventful, to say the least.
> 
> Afterward, David's imagination continues to run wild.

David waited patiently on the couch as Diarmuid dressed. At least in that aspect they were very much like a real couple, he thought with a wry smile, idly flipping through his murder mystery novel.

“Ready, David?” Diarmuid called from the bedroom.

He patted his jean’s pocket, feeling for his worn leather wallet with his ID, the keycard to the room, his pocketknife. All accounted for. “Yeah, got everything.”

Diarmuid strode into the lounge. “Okay, let’s roll!”

David did a double take. Diarmuid was dressed in a very form-fitting black pants and a low-cut, dark blue shirt. His brown curls were stylishly mussed, as if he’d run his fingers through his hair a few times. When he noticed David staring he did a little twirl on his heel. “How do I look?”

It wasn’t right, that someone could be just be that pretty. “You look great.”

Diarmuid smiled. “I have to if I’m going to be hanging on your arm all night, handsome.”

* * *

There were six bars scattered around the resort; David had checked the brochure. The one in the atrium felt intimate with its soft lighting from the warm, decorative lanterns scattered about the room and the stars glittering in the night sky. Diarmuid stared at them through the glass ceiling, mesmerized, and David stared at Diarmuid, utterly enthralled by the young man next to him.

“Beautiful,” he breathed, “Right, David?”

David stared into his eyes, dark and warm like honey. “Beautiful,” he replied.

The atrium bar was all black and gold and polished dark wood, its guests dressed in sports jackets and cocktail dresses. David felt obviously out of place in his jeans—thank God he’d worn the good ones, without the rips or stains—and his collared shirt. Too large, too coarse, too unkempt. He felt a number of eyes on him, obviously watching and wondering what someone like Diarmuid was doing with a man like him.

Diarmuid squeezed his hand. “Everyone’s staring because you’re so handsome, David,” he said, softly.

The young man led them through the throng to a table for two in the corner, farther away from the crowd. David patted his hand and offered him a small smile. Diarmuid was trying to make him feel comfortable. “I’m something, alright,” he said.

“You’re _handsome_. I’ll get us some drinks. What’ll you have?”

“Jameson and ginger ale, if they have it.”

“Oh, they will. Don’t worry. I’ll be right back!” David watched him until he was lost among the flock of shifting figures.

David settled into his seat. Their table was in a prime location for good, old-fashioned people watching. A lot of well-dressed folk in various stages of drunkenness, their movements animated and their voices heightened by alcohol. Some shirts unbuttoned, some jackets and cardigans left hanging on the back of chairs. Groups of friends laughing uproariously. Couples holding hands and staring at each other across the table, their drinks forgotten, the ice melting in the glasses.

“Are you enjoying yourself, sir?” David banged his knee on the underside of the table, startled. The man staring down at him smiled. “My apologies. My name is Geraldus. I’m one of the managers here at St. Matthias’s Seaside Resort and Spa. It’s my duty to make sure all of our guests are having the best experience they can possibly have.”

David shook his hand; it was oddly clammy. “Uh, David. I’m fine, thanks. Just, uh, waiting for my boyfriend to get back with our drinks. I’m okay.”

Geraldus raised an eyebrow. “Ah, David and Diarmuid. In _The_ _Sweetheart Suite_?”

Jesus, that was actually really fucking creepy. David frowned and gave him a curt nod. “That’s us. You, uh—have to memorize that, or something?”

“I need to know _everything_ that goes on at this resort in order to best cater to our guests.” He fixed David with a piercing stare. “How long have you and your partner been together?”

What the fuck. David had thought Diarmuid was just being paranoid about the lovey-dovey act for the staff, but now he had the feeling he was being tested. _Shit_. They’d talked about this—what was the plan? David was supposed to say he was going to propose if questioned. Would Geraldus leave it at that? What if he asked more questions?

After an excruciating pause David stammered, “N-not long enough. Was thinking that this place might be. You know. The place to pop the question.”

Sharks had friendlier smiles. “I see. Excellent. Where’ve you put the ring?”

“In our room?”

“A wise choice. How many carats?”

Fuck, what actually was a carat? Was that only for diamonds? What would Diarmuid like? Something more unique, probably. He shrugged and answered, “Uh, it’s a sapphire, you know. Blue, he loves blue.” He thought of Diarmuid’s dark blue silk and lace pajamas, his low-cut dark blue shirt, and swallowed. “Um, something a bit different, for him.”

The manager pivoted to a new line of questioning. “That’s very sweet. How did you two first meet?”

Oh, God, where the Hell was Diarmuid with those drinks? He probably had an entire fake backstory memorized down to what song was playing on their first fake-date. “Online. Friends signed me up for a—a dating site. Got lucky. Real lucky.”

“Extremely. So lucky you’re here at St. Matthias’s Seaside Resort and Spa, in _The Sweetheart Suite_ , where hundreds of loving couples dearly desire to stay.”

“Uh, yeah.” Was it, like, a regulation to say this place’s full name each time it got mentioned?

They stared at one another: a sweating ex-marine and a resort manager, equally matched. David pointed in the vague direction of the bar. “My boyfriend’s been a while so I’m just going to—“ He jerked his head like a moron and for some reason made a popping noise with his mouth. “Head over there. See what’s happened.”

Geraldus’s stare practically burned a hole into his back. David moved easily through the crowd; if people didn’t scurry out of the way at the sight of him barreling towards them he just brushed them aside. It was true, though, Diarmuid _was_ taking a long time. Where had he gotten to?

He found him with his back pressed against the bar’s countertop, their drinks beside him. Another man—tall and lean—was _looming_ over him, leering.

“I’ve really got to get these drinks back to my _boyfriend_ ,” he heard Diarmuid say, firmly. “He’s waiting for me.”

But the man didn’t let up. “I heard the couple’s suites are nice, sure,” he said, running a finger along Diarmuid’s shirt’s neckline, “But why don’t you come up to the fifth floor with me? I’m staying in the executive suite. We could compare beds.”

Diarmid’s lip quivered. “Um—“

Yeah, fuck _that._ David unceremoniously shoved the man out of the way, biting back a smirk as he flailed wildly in order to keep upright. The douchebag looked like he was going to argue, expression furious, but all his anger seemed to evaporate when he saw the dark look on David’s face.

David turned to Diarmuid. “I was wondering where you’d gone. You need help?” He nodded at the glasses on the bar top. Well, David’s Jameson and ginger ale was in a glass. Diarmuid appeared to have gotten a veritable glass _jug_ of alcohol.

“Sex on the Beach,” Diarmuid offered when he saw David staring. He gave the furious, sputtering man a sideways glace as David took both drinks in hand. “Um, nice meeting you, Mr. de Merville.”

They wandered back to their table. David set the glasses down with a _clink!_

Diarmuid fidgeted in his seat. Shyly, he said, “Thank you, David. He was being, um, very _persistent_.”

“It’s nothing.” But Diarmuid still looked a bit uncertain, so David added, “If something like that happens again, just leave and come get me. I’ll deal with it. You shouldn’t be having to fend off assholes on your vacation.”

He might’ve come across as too aggressive, because Diarmuid blushed and said nothing. Instead, he took a long, slow sip from his drink. Feeling sheepish, David focused on draining his own. He watched the crowd grow steadily drunker and louder as the evening wore on.

The ice bounced against the inside of Diarmuid’s glass as he gave the beverage a stir with his stray. “I’m glad you’re here to take care of me,” he murmured.

“We’ll look out for each other. Isn’t that what we promised?” David asked. He indicated Diarmuid’s glass, half-full. “You sure you can finish all that? This thing’s a bucket.”

“Oh, you haven’t seen anything yet.”

Diarmuid had emptied two of his cocktails in addition to half of one of David’s glasses of Jameson and ginger ale. He’d pulled a face and attempted to hide his dislike behind his hand. “Um. It’s not my favorite. I wouldn’t order it myself, but…”

David chuckled as he took the drink back. “You can say you don’t like it. It’s okay.” His laughter trailed off as Diarmuid ran a soft hand up and down his forearm, lip between his teeth and a deep, pink flush blooming across his face.

“It’s a _big_ man’s choice of drink, isn’t it?” he asked, smiling.

“ ** _HAH._** ” The choked noise that escaped from David’s throat had people looking around for a sick, escaped goat. “Fuck. I mean. Suits me just fine.”

Diarmuid hummed.

 _I’m having fun,_ David wanted to say. The alcohol ran rampant through his thoughts. _Thank you for bringing me here. Thank you for staying with me. You’re so gorgeous I can’t believe it. No one has a smile like yours. No one can even compare_. He finished off his drink and wiped his mouth with his wrist. “Diarmuid—“

“Ah, there’s the other half. This is Diarmuid, is it?” Geraldus appeared beside their table like a bad dream. He stared at them expectantly. “You know, your partner was telling me all about you.”

Wide-eyed, Diarmuid said, “Oh?”

“This is Geraldus. One of the resort’s _managers_ ,” said David.

Diarmuid nodded. “It’s nice to meet you. We’re having such a lovely time.”

“I’m glad to hear it. I was thinking, if you wouldn’t be opposed to it, why not have a couple’s tequila shot? On the house.”

“A couple’s shot?” David asked warily.

“You give your partner’s wrist a lick instead of your own hand, and they feed you the lime. It’s all in good fun. Really gets the juices flowing, so to speak.” David felt his face heat up. The manager’s voice was light, but his expression hard, mocking.

So this was a test? David glanced at Diarmuid, who stared at Geraldus with narrowed eyes. “Well, I don’t know. David, would that be okay? I know you don’t really like PDA.” He shot him a worried look that clearly asked, _Are you uncomfortable?_

Which, well, he was, but not for the reason Diarmuid might’ve thought. But that asshole Geraldus was watching; their entire vacation was on the line. He thanked God he’d jerked off in the bathtub hours before. “Just the one,” David said, “You’ve already had quite a bit to drink tonight.” He tapped his finger against Diarmuid’s empty glass. It rang like a bell.

The bartender poured their shots. Diarmuid ran his tongue along his wrist and sprinkled it with salt. It stuck to his skin, glued there with his spit. With his other hand he held a wedge of lime. David did the same. “Ready?” Diarmuid asked.

He nodded, gently grabbed Diarmuid’s hand, brought his wrist to his lips, and licked. He tasted like salt and sweat, his pulse thrumming underneath David’s tongue, hot and steady. He dared a quick glance at Diarmuid’s face and found him staring at him, pretty and flushed, as David sucked on his skin.

David downed the shot and turned the glass upside down on the bar top. The burn in his throat was only partially due to the tequila. Diarmuid gently brought the lime wedge to his mouth and he bit down, sour citrus juice bursting onto his taste buds, dripping down his chin.  
Then it was Diarmuid’s turn. A raucous cheer went up among a few onlookers as Diarmuid pressed a kiss to David’s palm before licking a long, wet stripe up his wrist. Then he did it again, and again, laving his hot, pink tongue against David’s skin, leaving it shiny with spit. He swallowed the tequila, pulled another cute little face, and eagerly opened his mouth for the lime.

David felt the crotch of his jeans tighten.

As he placed the wedge into his mouth Diarmuid leaned forward, lips enveloping not only the lime but also David’s fingers. His mouth was so fucking wet inside, so hot and soft. He happily suckled on them—David could feel the vibration as he hummed—and then pulled off with a _pop._

Flushed with alcohol, Diarmuid murmured, “You taste _salty_ , David.”

“ _Jesus fucking Christ_ ,” someone in the crowd said. David stood there, panting, in agreement. He was at half-mast in his jeans and getting harder by the second. Hopefully it was too dark to see.

The manager glared at both of them, seemingly unsatisfied but not willing to push it after _that_ display. “Well, enjoy your night. I certainly hope to see the two of you around.”

David snorted. Yeah, right. He’d probably test them at every couple’s activity, the asshole. Why did it matter if he and Diarmuid weren’t a real couple? They’d paid good money for that nice suite and a nice time. What would get the guy off their back, anyway? Did they have to fuck right in front of a crowd—

Holy shit, that was—that was so fucking wrong, but it was—it was really hot. An honest to God growl worked its way out of David’s throat at the thought of a group of men seeing Diarmuid so intimately, blushing and naked and squirming, but on the other hand—on the other hand, David could show them how it was done. Could cover Diarmuid with his body and fuck him until his toes curled, until his nails raked over David’s back, until he was sobbing with pleasure.

Fuck. He adjusted his jeans as subtly as he could. What the fuck was wrong with him? He’d had too much to drink, obviously, because he was so goddamn horny and ready to fight any man that so much as glanced at Diarmuid. Jesus Christ, it was like he was in the Corps again, young and bursting with testosterone.

Diarmuid pressed his palms against David’s chest and gazed up at him, dazed and a little wobbly on his feet. “David? I’m tired. I think I had too much to drink. Can we go to bed?”

David placed his hands on his hips to hold him steady. If Diarmuid wanted to go, then it was time to go. “Yeah, yeah. Of course, sweetheart.”

He didn’t even realize his error until he’d guided Diarmuid back to the elevator. As they waited for the doors to open he suddenly realized, _fucking Hell, **sweetheart** , _he’d called him _sweetheart_ and prayed that Diarmuid was too tipsy to realize what he’d said.

Of course he could never be so lucky. In the time it took for the elevator to start moving, Diarmuid had decided that he no longer wanted to stand.

“Can you carry me?” he asked. “I think you can. You’re so strong, David.” He gazed at David with hopeful, puppy-dog eyes until he relented and scooped him into his arms, bridal style.

The young man whooped with joy. He giggled into David’s chest, arms wrapped around his neck. “Thank you, David! I knew you could do it!” He fell silent as he found a sudden interest in David’s shirt buttons. After a few moments Diarmuid said, “Can you call me sweetheart again? I like it.”

“W-what?” _Fuck_.

He toyed with David’s shirt with one hand. “I like your voice. I liked it when you called me sweetheart. Can you do it again, please?”

Panic rising in his voice, David said, “How about this? If you remember this conversation tomorrow, I’ll call you that and anything else you want.”

“Mm.” Appeased, he went quiet.

The elevator stopped at the second floor. David sighed and stepped back against the wall. The doors opened, revealing a group of three men dressed for a late-night swim, laughing among themselves. Their expressions grew wary as they noticed David, standing tense with Diarmuid dozing in his arms.

The men stared at them. “Uh,” one of them started, “Is he alright?”

David held Diarmuid closer to his chest. “He’s had a bit too much to drink,” David said, “We’re going back to our room.”

“But you know each other, right?”

David couldn’t hide his wince. “Yeah, I’m his boyfriend,” he lied, like a fucking creepy asshole carrying a beautiful, tipsy young man in his arms.

“Can he, like, confirm that?”

He gave Diarmuid a light shake. “Diarmuid? These men are worried about you.”

Diarmuid stirred. “Mm? Oh, that’s nice. I’m okay, though, really. I’m not _too_ drunk, I’m just lazy. And tired. But David’s got me.” He snuggled into David’s chest. “We’re just going back to our room.”

Visible relief crossed the men’s faces. “Okay, cool, cool, cool. Just wanted to make sure, you know?”

David nodded. “No, I get it. Thanks for checking on him. Really.” It was nice to know that there were people looking out for one another.

“Yeah, I mean. No harm in making sure, right? Have a good night, you two.”

“We will,” Diarmuid called. Then he burst into giggles.

* * *

The keycard was in his back pocket. “Gotta put you down, sweethe—Diarmuid.” **_FUCK_** _._

“Okay, David.” Diarmuid hummed, leaning against the wall. When the door swung open he grinned and held out his arms once more. “Carry me, please!”

So David carried him over the threshold. He couldn’t help but laugh at the pure joy on Diarmuid’s flushed face as David made his way through the suite and to the bedroom. “You having fun?” he asked.

The cheerful bundle in his arms giggled. “Yes, David, thank you. Did you have fun? At the atrium?”

It wasn’t his usual scene; too many people. That fucker who’d tried to get his fake-boyfriend into bed had pissed him off, too. And could sexual torment be considered fun? Maybe for some people. But it had been nice to share a few drinks with Diarmuid and talk. “Yeah, I had fun.”

“Good. I was worried. I wanted you to have a nice time. Your friends are right. You deserve a nice time.”

Hell, Diarmuid really _was_ a sweetheart, wasn’t he? “Long as I’m with you, I think I’m fine,” David admitted. He gently laid Diarmuid out onto the bed. Brushing a few errant curls from his face, David asked, “You feel okay? You want water?”

“Yes, please. And, um, could I have my PJs, too?”

“Okay, no problem. Just sit tight.”

The fridge in the kitchen was full of bottles of spring water. David grabbed one, spied the champagne in the melted bucket of ice on the table, and took a moment to stow it in corner of the refrigerator. Maybe they’d want it another night.

When he returned to the bedroom Diarmuid was sitting cross-legged on the bed, talking to his phone screen. David recognized the irritated, scandalized voice coming from the speaker as Rua. “You’re _drunk_ in a hotel room with a _stranger_?”

Diarmuid frowned. “David’s not a stranger. And I’m not that drunk! He is taking care of me, though.”

“Yeah, I bet.”

What was that supposed to mean? David walked to the side of the bed and lightly pressed the cold water bottle against Diarmuid’s neck. He jumped, shrieked, and playfully slapped at David’s arm. “Oooh, so _mean_!”

“Mean and nasty,” David deadpanned, “Which pajamas do you want?”

“The pretty ones, please. They’re in the top drawer.”

Ah. The silk, lacy ones. Well, now that was one mystery in his life solved. What Diarmuid’s sleepwear felt like between his fingers. Smooth, soft, and cool, not unlike the silk sheets he was currently laying on. Christ. David set them at the edge of the bed and made his way out of the room.

“Goodnight, Diarmuid,” he said.

Diarmuid smiled. “Goodnight, David. Thank you! Don’t forget, breakfast cart at eight o’clock, and then we’ll paint the town red!”

“Item by item.”

Diarmuid was laughing as David shut the door.

The couch was waiting for him in the lounge, a silk blanket stolen from the bed and a pair of David’s sweatpants thrown across the cushions. He glanced at the shut bedroom door and quickly changed, leaving his jeans and shirt in pile on the floor.

David stretched out onto the couch, the blanket soft and cool against his chest. He thought of Diarmuid, cocooned in the soft canopy bed, dressed in his dark blue silk pajamas, cloaked in silk sheets, wrapped in luxury and comfort. Of Diarmuid smiling at his through heavily lidded eyes, tongue pressed against his wrist as he licked and licked and _licked_.

He let out a shuddering breath as an all-too familiar heat rolled through his body, his cock hardening once more. _God_. Fuck. Not again. And he couldn’t, not with Diarmuid right in the bedroom next to him. He shifted uncomfortably underneath the blanket. But Christ, tonight had been something else. _Salty_. Fuck. Diarmuid had looked up at him with his big brown eyes and long lashes and said he’d tasted _salty_.

The sheep that he counted were just a way to estimate the time until he was sure Diarmuid would be sound asleep in his bed.

He closed his eyes and imagined the bedroom door creaking open, Diarmuid’s bare feet padding on the wood floor, coming to a halt as he spied David’s erection pulled free of his sweatpants, hard and thick and leaking. “Is that for me?” asked the fantasy-Diarmuid with a wink, slipping out of his silk, lacy tank top and shorts.

David threw his head back and earnestly stroked himself. God, yes. All of him, every inch of himself—he was Diarmuid’s, only Diarmuid’s, whatever he wanted to do with him.

He thought, briefly, of having Diarmuid take him into his mouth. Of having him leave a trail of saliva up his shaft, lips wrapped around the head as David gasped and ran his fingers through his mop of brown curls. Then he’d—he’d pull his lips off and smile and stroke David’s spit-soaked cock with his fist, laughing at how easily undone he was. But the couch was easily large enough to fit the both of them; Diarmuid could just crawl on top of David, grab his throbbing, aching cock, and sink down onto it with a satisfied sigh.

Would Diarmuid ride him hard, bouncing in David’s lap, desperate and wanting as David thrust his cock up into him? Or would he trail his fingers down David’s heaving chest, nails lightly scraping over his nipples, rolling his hips in slow, smooth movements?

No, David wanted—he bit his lip to stifle a loud moan—Diarmuid could have him however he desired, fast or slow, rough or gentle, but David wanted to hold his hands. To have their fingers laced together as he looked up at his lover’s face, lips parted in ecstasy as he panted for breath, lashes fluttering, whole body shuddering as each and every buck of David’s hips sent a jolt of searing pleasure throughout his limbs.

And Diarmuid’s own erection, flushed pink like the rest of him, bobbing up and down as he lifted himself off of David and then slammed himself back down. As David furiously pumped his fist up and down his shaft he imagined enveloping Diarmuid’s in his rough, calloused hand and stroking him until he could do nothing but _wail_. Fucking into him, hitting his prostate with every deep, brutal thrust, and his fingers wrapped around that sweet, pretty cock. He imagined Diarmuid’s rhythmic cries, sharp and high-pitched, “ _Ah! Ah! Ah!_ —“ before coming hard into David’s hand, his release seeping through the spaces between David’s fingers.

That thought—how Diarmuid would clench around him as shivered through his orgasm, still shooting hot, sticky cum onto David’s skin—had David spilling into his own hand, eyes shut tight, grunting through gritted teeth.

He sat there, spent and stunned.

Goddamn.

He’d already jerked off twice in the short amount of time they’d been at the resort. Five more days of this and David would be coming dry with a raw, chafed dick.

That’d honestly probably be better, he thought, cleaning himself off with his blanket. He rubbed his hand on the material, wiped his softening cock, tucked himself back into his sweatpants, and made his way to the bathroom to throw the blanket, now sodden with his sweat and semen, into the hamper.

This time there was no steam to obscure the mirror. The man that stared back at him was flushed red from his face to his bare chest, pupils still large and blown back from lingering arousal. David swallowed. Was he—someone that Diarmuid could want? The young man was so—just so sweet, and happy, so delicate and beautiful. David, with his rough, scarred body and antisocial tendencies bordering on misanthropy, was _not_.

David splashed his face with cold water from the sink.

Tomorrow was another day together. He dreaded it. He couldn't wait.


	4. The Starlight Special Couple's Dining Experience

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> David makes a plan and has an excellent dinner date with Diarmuid.
> 
> A food porn chapter rather than a spicy smut chapter.

David had been out of the Corps for years but he’d yet to lose the habit of waking at the crack of dawn. He shifted on the couch, eye bleary, as what little sunlight that made it through curtains hit his face.

Wait, whose couch—

As he recalled exactly where he was and exactly who he was with he breathed a sigh. At some fancy-ass resort, in a couple’s suite, with possibly the most beautiful person in the entire world pretending to be his boyfriend and sleeping off a few too many drinks from the night before. In the silence of the morning he could hear Diarmuid’s soft snores through the closed bedroom door.

Christ. And David had already jerked off to the thought of him—his big, brown eyes, his freckled skin, his pink lips—not once but _twice_ , like some skeevy, sleazebag fuck.

Well, it wasn’t going to happen again. David promised himself that as he pulled on an old tank top and a pair of running shorts. Whatever pent-up energy he had he’d get rid of with some good, old-fashioned exercise.

He grabbed his keycard, made sure the suite was locked, and made his way down the four flights of stairs to the lobby. The woman at the front desk who checked him and Diarmuid in still stood there at the front desk, typing away at her computer. She smiled at him.

“Early morning for you too, huh?” David asked.

She nodded. “I like it, though. Quieter. People tend to sleep in on vacations.”

Except for him, apparently. David sheepishly rubbed the back of his head. “Eh, not everyone. Old habits die hard, I guess.”

“Are you and your husband having a good time so far?”

David flushed red. “Diarmuid’s not my husband, he’s—he’s my boyfriend.” He choked on the lie. Then, he remembered the story he’d made up to get Geraldus the asshole manager off his back and quickly amended, “I mean, I want him to be. My husband. I’m hoping. But. But right now we’re just a couple on vacation.” Jesus Christ, who knew he’d be so fucking bad at scamming a resort. But the woman seemed to think his babble was from nerves rather than making shit up on the fly.

She gave him another nod, her eyes full of understanding. “Oh, I hope everything goes well for you during your stay.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I do, too.” He chuckled. “Hey, sorry, I have a question, actually. Is it alright if I take a run? It’s my first time in a place like this. I don’t know what the standard procedures are. It won’t bother anyone, will it?”

“Of course not! Go right ahead! There’s a garden near the main square—maybe you should check that out? It’s a pretty popular spot for couples, you know. Really romantic.”

The image of a happy, smiling Diarmuid against a backdrop of blooming, sweet-scented flowers formed in his mind. “Good idea. Thanks. Thank you.”

* * *

A walk through the garden later. David mused on it as he jogged around the resort.

It’d be a nice activity to do together. Relaxing. Maybe he could talk about the flowers they saw. Diarmuid had been impressed by his knowledge about the bouquet. They could walk side-by-side, his arm wrapped around Diarmuid’s waist—to stave off any suspicious douchebag resort managers, of course—and David could point out all the different, colorful blooms and buds and watch Diarmuid’s eyes light up.

The sun had barely risen and the resort paths were empty save for a few other people who had the same idea to come out for an early morning jog. They nodded to one another as they passed. There were signs everywhere pointing out the direction to the gym and the spa, the docks and the beach, multiple pools, gift shops, a tennis court, a theater.

The garden near the square was also just a short walk away from one of the various resort restaurants, one that Diarmuid had mentioned had been awarded a Michelin star or two. Whatever the Hell that meant. But it was undoubtedly a good thing because Diarmuid seemed eager to try it, so—

So maybe their _Starlight Special Couple’s Dining Experience_ would get them a seat at the place? They could work up an appetite from a nice walk through the garden and then sit down at the fancy restaurant and eat—whatever rich people ate. Caviar or pâté or whatever. Those miniscule, stupid, deconstructed meals that were just dribbles of sauce and a spoonful of meat and vegetables compressed into little disks.

But Diamruid would probably like to try that kind of thing. Something new, something that they’d only experience here, on this vacation, together. That wouldn’t be so bad. Just sharing a meal with Diarmuid. To see him happy and enjoying himself.

Another image came to mind, one of Diarmuid dressed elegantly at a table decorated with roses and lit candles, still flushed from their walk through the garden.

It energized him on his run back to the suite.

* * *

As he walked down the hallway he spotted someone from room service pushing a cart to their door.

The eight o’clock breakfast cart, David recalled.

“Hey, morning,” he said. The hotel work turned to him. “This is where I’m staying. I can roll it in. Be nice to surprise the boyfriend.” He showed the man his keycard and took the cart with thanks.

The kitchen was empty, the balcony curtains still drawn when he walked in. But he heard the bathtub draining and a few moments later Diarmuid popped out of the bedroom, dressed in a bathrobe, drying his curls. David rolled the cart near the table.

A surge of affection welled up in him as he took in Diarmuid’s appearance. He looked like a little lamb in the fluffy white robe, his hair still damp and mussed, his skin still flushed from the heat of the bath, his eyes big and wide as he spotted David standing in the middle of the kitchen.

“Good morning, sleeping beauty,” David teased. “Breakfast is here.”

Diarmuid smiled shyly. “Thank you, David. For last night. I’m embarrassed, but—I can’t remember that much.”  
“Nothing?” He suppressed a sigh of relief. Diarmuid didn’t need to know that he’d slipped and called him _sweetheart_ the entire evening.

The younger man blushed. “Well, I remember you had to carry me. I’m so sorry. I had too much to drink.”

David waved away the apology. “Don’t worry about it. You would’ve been fine if that asshole Geraldus hadn’t had us—uh. Do. Couple’s shots.” Did Diarmuid remember that? David licking salt off of his wrist? Himself sucking David’s fingers into his mouth along with the wedge of lime? “You feeling okay? Need water or anything?”

“N-no, I’m fine, thank you, David. I’m just… I feel a bit sheepish, that’s all. I didn’t mean to make you take care of me last night.”

“I’d be a pretty shitty boyfriend if I didn’t look out for you,” David tried to joke. But Diarmuid didn’t laugh or smile. Instead, his blush deepened to a vibrant, lovely pink.

He murmured, “I just… I hope you won’t think less of me for it.”

The shame and embarrassment on Diarmuid’s face, how he couldn’t quite look David in the eye and the way his lower lip trembled ever so slightly—he didn’t like that at all. There wasn’t any reason for Diarmuid to feel badly about the night before. He declared, “Look, don’t worry about it. Really. I had a good time. All you did was have a bit too much to drink and ask me to carry you around some. Why would I mind that? You hardly weigh anything.” Then, because his mouth was faster than his brain, he said, “And you’re just as much of a sweetheart drunk as you are when you’re not.” Fuck, he couldn’t quit it with this sweetheart shit.

Diarmuid’s eyes widened, as if he were realizing something, but all he said was, “Okay, David. Thank you.”

Scrambling for a change in topic, David asked, “You want to eat breakfast? Got the cart.” He grabbed the handle and pushed it back and forth.

“Oh!” Diarmuid’s face finally lit up into a delighted smile. “Oh, I forgot all about it? What do we have?”

The cart was laden with foodstuffs. It must’ve been made out of sturdy stuff, otherwise it would’ve been buckling under the weight of it all. An alarmingly wobbly stack of fluffy, buttermilk pancakes next to a pitcher of syrup. Three tiers of pastry—croissants and a fruit tart and some sort of quick bread studded with chopped up maraschino cherries, turned pink from the juice. Pitchers of water and orange juice, a pot of tea with two tea cups. Bowls of fruit. Eggs sunny side up with deep, orange yolks. Still warm toast with butter and jam.

David stared at it all. “What—we get this _every day_?”

Diarmuid sat down at the table. He scooted his chair in. “Um—I think they think that we’re working up quite the appetite.”

The comment nearly had him spill the drinks. David gave an awkward chuckle and set first a glass of water, and then a second glass with orange juice in front of Diarmuid. “Drink up. Just—want to make sure you stay hydrated.” The younger man obliged before scrutinizing the breakfast fare. He seemed particularly taken with the fruit tart, with its golden crust and filled with some sort of pastry cream and topped with a colorful heart-shaped arrangement of strawberries, raspberries, and pomegranate seeds.

“Is that a breakfast food?” David asked.

Diarmuid plucked a strawberry covered in thick, white cream from the tart. “Of course. It’s _fruit_.” Then David watched, wide-eyed, as he wrapped his lips around the strawberry and _sucked_ the cream off of it. He ran his tongue along his lips, giggling. “Oh, that’s really yummy.” Then he popped the piece of fruit into his mouth. Diarmuid’s eyes fluttered shut as chewed with a groan of pleasure.

Jesus _fucking **Christ**_. God, that wasn’t even fair. David shifted in his seat and tried to imagine the least erotic things he could think of. The cigarette smoke and cursing on the construction site, unpleasant and overwhelming. Cricket, because it was like baseball, kind of, and not, and thinking about it confused him. It was difficult, though, because everything, every single fucking thing Diarmuid did had him hard as a rock and yearning. He was just so gorgeous. So sweet and earnest. David wanted nothing more than to be the cause of his smiles, his laughs, his moans. He just—

He just _wanted_.

“David? Are you okay?” Diarmuid frowned. “You’re quiet all of a sudden.”

“I’m always quiet,” David choked out.

“Yes, but—thinking quiet, not regular quiet.” At the incredulous noise that escaped from David’s mouth, he continued, “There’s a difference! I can tell. You look more serious when you’re thinking. You frown and little and your eyebrows furrow and—“ Then Diarmuid stopped, face going pink once more. “Anyway. What are you thinking about?”

Most definitely not about Diarmuid sucking the tip of his cock the way he’d sucked and licked the cream off that strawberry. David shook his head. “I was—trying to remember something. There’s a law in France, I think? The croissants are different shapes depending on the type of fat in it. Straight or curved. Butter has to be one way, anything else is another. Can’t remember which is which, though.”

“Oh!” Diarmuid stared at the plate of croissants. They weren’t crescent shaped, but straight. He took one in hand. “Do you think they do the same thing here? Let’s try one, see if we can tell.” 

He broke the croissant in half—flakes of pastry fell to the tabletop—and handed one piece to David.

It was good. Rich, buttery, flaky layers. David looked up to tell Diarmuid and then laughed because his companion had already gobbled down his half. “Bet you didn’t even taste it. How are you going to tell?”

“I _can!_ It was _really_ buttery. And these are straight croissants, so—those are the all-butter ones, then.”

“Only if the hotel’s baker is imitating French laws to bake his stuff,” David reminded him.

“I bet they are. This is a _fancy_ place.” Diarmuid smiled. “David, you know a lot of interesting things. Like with the flowers—”

The flowers! David said, “Speaking of. There’s a garden. Near one of the restaurants. Really nice. I thought, if you wanted, we could walk around there before dinner. Just see what’s there.”

Pure delight and excitement crept into Diarmuid’s voice. “Really? You’d want to do that with me?”

There were plenty of things David wanted to do _with_ and _to_ Diarmuid. Showing him a good time was definitely one of them. “Yeah,” he said. “I mean, unless you got other stuff you want to do.”

“No! No, I—um. I think that’d be nice. Um. I just wasn’t sure if—we’re going to be spending all day together, right? Painting the town red and all? I don’t want you to feel like you _have_ to—to spend time with me.”

David said, nervously, “If I’m supposed to be your boyfriend, I ought to take you out on a nice date, right?”

Diarmuid idly traced the condensation left front his glass with a finger. “If you really want to,” he murmured, “I’d love to.”

“It’s a date, then,” David said.

And step one into a new plan: He’d show Diarmuid such a good time that after the vacation was over he’d want to date for real, and David could touch him and kiss him and spoil him like he deserved.

* * *

After David had showered and changed and Diarmuid had gotten dressed they’d gone down to the hotel gift shop, looking for the perfect gift for Diarmuid’s friends and family.

“Rua said he wanted something really like, ‘vacation souvenir.’ What do you think? A t-shirt, or a key chain maybe?”

David peered at the shelves. “The snow globe’s nice.” It held a tiny model of the hotel and had not fake snowflakes but some sort of colorful glitter. Was it still a snow globe if it didn’t have snow? “It’s, uh—kitsch, I think?”

“A knick-knack!”

“A bauble,” David responded.

Diarmuid giggled. “A trinket!”

When they finally got to the register with the snow globe for Rua, the hotel’s cookbook for Diarmuid’s father (“ _Eat like you’re always on vacation!_ ” the tagline declared) and a tumbler glass embossed with the hotel’s logo for Alex (at Diarmuid’s insistence), Diarmuid was all smiles and David was beaming, proud to have given him a lovely morning.

They followed Diarmuid’s itinerary to a band playing in the square. It was gentle, cheery, instrumental music, perfect for a sunny day. They sat on a bench and listened and talked quietly together and people watched. Families in a hurry, holding tight to their children’s hands as they scurried from one place to another, couples walking slowly, arms wrapped around each other, oblivious to the people stuck behind them. A few people talking loudly into their cell phones about meetings and accounts, apparently unaware that they were on vacation.

When the set was over Diarmuid debated over their next destination. “I wanted to go to this gelato shop,” he said, “But… I don’t want to ruin our dinner tonight.”

David highly doubted that a cup of gelato would fill even Diarmuid up before their dinner date, but the younger man looked a little downcast so he replied, “Let’s share one today. Save plenty of room for later. Then tomorrow we’ll come back and get more.”  
And that was how he ended up sitting across from Diarmuid in another too-small chair outside the shop with one dessert glass of mango gelato and one spoon passed back and forth between them. David barely tasted the stuff. There was nothing sweeter than Diarmuid’s bright, happy smile as he popped a mouthful of gelato into his mouth.

“It’s good,” he said, pushing the bowl back to David.

The only problem with their day was that it wasn’t nearly long enough. David wanted it to last forever.

* * *

On Diarmuid’s new and improved itinerary he had blocked out a few hours before their garden walk and dinner in order to _REFRESH AND REVITALIZE!!!_ _J_

This meant a nice rest back in their suite—a nap, if need be, and perhaps another bath before getting dressed for their date.

He cursed the fact that he hadn’t packed nicer clothes. Not that everything he owned was a tank top and shorts but—God, was a collared shirt good enough? He didn’t even have a tie. These places had dress codes, didn’t they?

“David? I called the restaurant and they’ll have our table ready on the hour, so we have a decent amount of time to walk around the garden,” Diarmuid said, walking into the bedroom. “Are you almost ready? Oh, here, let me get your collar.”

Diarmuid had to stand on his tiptoes to even reach his neck. David tentatively put his hands on either side of his waist to steady him as he folded the collar back and smoothed it out.

“You look really nice,” David mumbled. And he did. Dark blue dress pants and a white, long-sleeved shirt that hung off his shoulders. He’d done _something_ to his hair as well. Still curly and shiny but a little more tamed tonight.

Diarmuid beamed. “Thank you, David. You look so handsome.”

His skin hot where Diarmuid’s fingers had brushed against him, David said, somewhat desperately, “Do you—I’m ready. When you are.”

“Okay. Let’s get going. I want you to tell me about the flowers.”

* * *

It was different in the evening. Cooler and less crowded as they walked to the garden. The area was lit by fairy lights placed in small lanterns strategically placed along the sides of the cobblestone path. He held Diarmuid’s hand, allowing the younger man to lead him wherever he wanted David to follow.

There were flowers everywhere. Roses of every color in full bloom, giving the air a perfumed scent, pink and white peonies with their many delicate petals like tissue paper. Bright yellow daffodils that seemed to glow like the sun’s rays in their field. Absolutely perfect dahlias whose petals and colors—red and orange and white and yellow—looked like small bursts of fireworks against the greenery. David pointed each and every different flower out to Diarmuid, talking about the difference between tea roses and floribunda roses, how the dahlia was related to the sunflower, any and every fact he could think of to keep his lovely companion smiling.

“What got you interested in flowers, David?” Diarmuid asked.

David shrugged. “I just—you know. Just like ‘em. They’re pretty.” He stared at Diarmuid’s petal pink lips. “Real pretty.”

“Thank you for taking me here.”

He swallowed and stepped a little closer. “Wanted you to have a good time.”

“I am. I’ve had a lot of fun today. With you.”

“I’m—I’m really glad, Diarmuid.”

The flowers framed his head, a halo of soft color against his curls. They were so close they could have—they could kiss, if they wanted. If _Diarmuid_ wanted. And he might have. His lips were slightly parted—an invitation? David could ask. That’d set the record straight, at least.

_Can I kiss you?_

He’d know for sure, then. Might ruin the vacation if Diarmuid didn’t feel the same way but. But if he _did_ want to, then—

David cleared his throat. His fingers brushed against Diarmuid’s. He leaned in, opened his mouth to speak, when the fucking cell phone rang.

They both jumped, startled. David choked down a curse and turned away, face burning. He glanced down at his watch. Christ. On the hour, right on fucking time.

Diarmuid answered the phone with a sheepish expression. “Um, yes, this is Diarmuid. Oh, yes, we’ll be there right away. Thank you. Yes, thank you very much.” As he put his phone back into his pocket he said, “Our table’s ready.”

“Figured.” They stared at one another. Diarmuid really had the biggest, prettiest brown eyes that David had ever seen. “You—you’ll have to order for me. You’re a lot more. Elegant. Than I am.”

Diarmuid bit his lip, his smile bashful. “Elegant? I don’t think I’m as sophisticated as you think I am.”

“Compared to me, you are. You’re really—really something else.”

The younger man brushed a stray curl behind his ear. His face reddened. “If, um. You want me to. I think I could pick something out that you’d like.”

“I trust you,” David said, quietly.

* * *

The restaurant was a high-end, classy place. A glittering crystal chandelier in the ceiling. Dark, polished wooden floors with Persian carpet, round tables covered by sumptuous, pure white cloth and surrounded by plush, red chairs that David thought would fit right in next to a crackling fireplace.

But the host led them past the tables with chattering, laughing diners and to a hallway. David followed, bemused, as he and Diarmuid trailed behind the host like two ducklings following their mother.

She stopped at an entryway and brushed back rich, red curtains—probably silk, from the kind of shimmer on them—and presented them with a room with one table and two chairs, lit by candlelight and surrounded by vases of freshly cut flowers. Maybe from the garden.

Beside him Diarmuid gasped. “Oh, it’s so lovely, thank you!”

It was more than lovely. It was—private, intimate.

_Romantic_.

Just Diarmuid and himself, eating and talking together.

* * *

When the waiter asked if they would like to look at the wine menu Diarmuid blushed, face pink like a rose in the candlelight. He demurred, “Oh, no, thank you. We had enough alcohol at the party in the atrium last night. Let’s have a nice dinner with something refreshing—um, maybe—the basil lemonade. Is that all right with you, David?”

David shut the menu and handed it to the waiter. “He’s the boss,” David said to the man, “I’m just following his lead.”

The waiter looked from him to Diarmuid, smiling. “Of course, of course.”

Diarmuid happily chose their entire meal. Once they received their drinks he ordered an appetizer of mushrooms, gruyere cheese, and caramelized onions stuffed into little bites of puff pastries. They were so small that three readily fit in David’s palm, but they were packed with flavor.

“You must have to eat a lot,” Diarmuid said. He idly ran his finger along the rim of his glass. “You’ve got a lot of muscle. You’re really strong.”

“H-how do you figure?”

“When you got rid of that guy who bothering me at the bar. And you carried me back to our room. Um, that was—really impressive. And really sweet.”

David shook his head. “Already told you that you don’t got to thank me for that. I’m not letting anyone make you uncomfortable on your vacation.”  
Diarmuid folded his napkin in his lap. “I’m thanking you for it, but it’s not just that. I’m _appreciating_ you.” He looked up at David through his long, dark lashes.

A nervous chuckle crawled out of David’s throat. He drained his glass of lemonade. “I—uh. I appreciate you. Appreciating me.” God, what the fuck was wrong with him? Fucking Hell. “Do you. Know what else we’re going to eat tonight?”

He did.

For Diarmuid’s own plate he requested prosciutto carbonara with sautéed spinach and peas—the pasta made fresh, yellow with egg yolk, and prosciutto diced, and the vegetables adding pops of bright green to the dish. For David he scrutinized the menu and then, with a triumphant noise, ordered spaghetti with ham, porcini mushrooms, and black truffle. “Something familiar done a little differently,” Diarmuid said.

It _was_ different. The noodles had been cooked al dente and pressed into some kind of mould to form a rectangle, filled with the meat, mushrooms, and truffles all cooked in the ham’s juices, drizzled with cream, and then topped with a parmesan crust with flakes of gold leaf.

“You got me something real fancy,” David said, surprised.

After taking a sip of his glass of basil lemonade Diarmuid murmured, “I think you deserve a bit of luxury.”

To hide the flush creeping up his neck and onto his face David pretended to be quite interested in the shape of his meal, cutting it into segments with a fork. He didn’t have to pretend it was good, though, because it _was_. Rich but not heavy, somehow, and the mushrooms and truffle adding a slightly earthy, nutty flavor to the meat and pasta. He finished it all, his fork scraping the plate, and Diarmuid watching him with the most pleased expression.

His eyes lit up when the waiter pushed in the dessert cart. He took in the sight of plates and glasses and bowls filled and stacked with a myriad of sweets, wriggling in excitement.

“Could I—could I get a lot? Is that okay?” Diarmuid fixed him with that puppy-dog stare. He didn’t need to. David would’ve given him anything.

“It’s your night, Diarmuid. Get whatever you want.”

The waiter approved of David’s answer. “It’s always nice to see such a sweet couple.”

“David always takes care of me,” Diarmuid replied.

Soon their table was covered in dessert dishes, each with two spoons for them to share. A panna cotta topped with rose petals, surrounded by lychee and raspberry granita—pretty and sparkling and cool with a creamy, fruity flavor. Next, a plate of round mini vanilla sponge cakes with raspberry mousse covered with a shiny pink mirror glaze that Diarmuid pouted about being too nice to eat even as he guided another forkful into his mouth.

The grand finale appeared—to David, at least—to be just a giant chunk of dark chocolate shaped into a sphere. He was wondering exactly how they were supposed to eat it when the waiter poured a small pitcher of warm melted chocolate over top of it. It was actually hollow. David watched, fascinated, as the outer layer melted away to reveal a heart made of strawberry ice cream.

The waiter poured the rest of the melted chocolate around the dish with a flourish and stood back. Diarmuid cheered and clapped, laughing with delight. David thanked the waiter for his time and vowed to give the guy a Hell of a tip—he’d been extremely attentive and friendly and Diarmuid seemed to have thoroughly enjoyed himself.

* * *

“David?”

He shook his head and blinked, startled. He’d been busy watching Diarmuid lick chocolate from his lips. “Sorry, what were you saying?”

“We could use that spa package tomorrow.”

David’s mouth went dry. “That—uh—the. The sensuous delights one?”

“That’s it! A Night of Sensuous Delights Lover’s Spa Package!” Diarmuid sounded excited.

Hell of an idea. He was already barely keeping it together as he was just fantasizing about Diarmuid naked and pressed against him, jerking off in the fucking bathtub and couch. There was no telling what he’d do if he and Diarmuid were naked together, flushed with the sauna’s steam, or surrounded by candles as someone poured oil on their bodies and massaged all the aches and knots from their limbs.

And the thought of having to lie there on a table as someone’s else’s hands rubbed and squeezed and soothed Diarmuid’s body, something that he’d been _aching_ to do ever since they arrived—he wouldn’t be able to handle that at all.

“I don’t think I’ll join you for that one, Diarmuid. I’m sorry. I don’t. Like the idea of strangers touching me.” _Or seeing them touch you_ , he thought.

Diarmuid’s eyes widened. “Oh! Of course. I understand completely. I’m sorry, David, I didn’t think about that.”

“Don’t be sorry,” David said. “Go tomorrow and have fun without me. I’m sure you didn’t plan on spending your whole vacation keeping me company.”

An odd expression flitted across Diarmuid’s face. He said, slowly, “No. I’ll admit that I didn’t. But—I’m really glad that you decided to come with me.”

“I’m really happy to be here with you.”

They finished their dinner in comfortable silence.

* * *

The very next evening Diarmuid returned from his spa day absolutely lovely, his curls bouncing and shiny, his nails manicured, his skin fresh and glowing, and with a wicker basket filled with numerous bottles in one hand and two fluffy white towels under his arm.

He looked so pretty and pleased that David just had to smile. “What’s all that?” he asked.

Diarmuid beamed. “I told them you weren’t really comfortable with strangers giving you a massage, so they put together a basket for me so _I_ can give you a massage instead! Here!” He handed David the towels. “Get undressed and lay on the bed while I heat up the oil.”

Oh, Jesus fuck. This was a dream a nightmare. Bare and vulnerable under Diarmuid’s small, soft hands. David stared at the towels and then at the younger man’s cheerful, beautiful face.

“Okay,” he rasped.

And he walked into the bedroom.


	5. Sensuous Delights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The massage goes much better than David expected.

He brushed the curtains back, laid one towel on the bed and stared at it. The rose petals had long been cleared off, but the sheets were slightly wrinkled where Diarmuid slept during the night. Would the silk still have that floral scent or would it—would it smell completely of Diarmuid?

David groaned. Fuck. He had to stop that. Thinking about Diarmuid that way. Right now. All his efforts had to go into _not_ becoming aroused by the younger man rubbing his small, soft hands all over David’s oiled body.

Jesus Christ. Maybe it’d be better for everyone involved if he just pitched himself off the balcony. Four floors. That would do it. Better to bleed out slowly on the pavement then die of white-hot shame if Diarmuid saw him with an erection.

Diarmuid’s voice jarred him from his thoughts. “David? Are you ready?”

He wasn’t. Not even close. He was naked and far too broad and rough and scarred for someone like Diarmuid to touch, and he was trying to bury the thoughts that had the heat pool between his legs and his cock swell. But what David said was, “One second.” He laid down on the bed, heart pounding hard enough to bruise his ribs, and pulled the other towel over himself to cover his ass. His neck, his shoulders, his back, his thighs and calves and feet—all of the rest of him was on display for Diarmuid.

People got massages from extraordinarily attractive masseurs all the time and lived through it. Though, he doubted that many people had spent any length of time utterly enamored with their masseur and none of them had ever been _Diarmuid_ , who was sweet and warm and just beautiful, absolutely gorgeous. But David could try and doze off under his ministrations and wake up a little less tense in the shoulders and triumphant in surviving the ordeal without letting it slip that he wanted nothing more than to pull Diarmuid down into the bed with him and press his lips against his, to taste the inside of his mouth, to press his cock deep inside him and give him the best fuck he’d ever had.

**_Goddamn it_** , he was already—

The door swung open and then clicked shut. He heard Diarmuid padding about the bedroom, chattering happily. “Okay, so I don’t have any of that nice ocean waves music that they play but it’s still pretty quiet so I think that should be fine. And I’ll dim the lights a little and light some candles so it’ll be more like the real spa experience!”

David resolutely shoved his face into one of the pillows as Diarmuid got the room ready. The window dressing was pulled shut, the candles lit—they smelt like roses, because of course they did—and the bed’s canopy curtains tied back, the sound of the fine, sheer material rustling in Diarmuid’s fingers as he prepared to rub his hands all over David’s skin possibly the most erotic noise he’d ever heard in his life.

“Um, I’m going to use some of the oil now. Tell me if the temperature is okay?” A small handful of warm oil dripped onto his upper back. Diarmuid gently spread it out across his shoulders and spine with slow, gentle brushes of his palms.

He mumbled, “It’s fine.”

“Oh, good, I was worried it’d be too hot. I didn’t want to burn you.”

“No, it’s great. Feels great.” He suppressed a shiver as Diarmuid’s hands ran all the way down to the small of his back.

Diarmuid hummed. “You _are_ a bit tense, David. I’m glad you’re letting me do this. You ought to be all nice and relaxed on vacation.”

Wherever Diarmuid touched left trails of heat along his skin, a pleasant warmth that had David aching for more. The younger man fell into a kind of rhythm, starting at the back of David’s neck, smoothing out his shoulders, and then coming to the center of David’s back to follow along his spine before pressing into the spot just before his tailbone.

The choked moan that followed after Diarmuid dug a little more firmly into that area had his face color to the red of the pillow he was hiding in.

“I’m not hurting you, am I?” Diarmuid worried. He paused in his touches, his hands stopped at David’s waist.

David let out a strangled laugh. “No. No, you’re doing great.”

There was a sweet sigh of relief and then Diarmuid continued rubbing his back with another handful of oil. “Thank you for saying that. I was kind of nervous. I’m not really—I haven’t done this before.”

“Well, I’ve never had a massage before,” David said, “But I think. You’re a natural. Your hands. You just. It’s great.”

Diarmuid murmured, “I’m so glad. I want you to feel good. I’m going to move to your legs now, okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah, okay.”

The humming returned as Diarmuid focused on his thighs and calves. Their small conversation seemed to have given him more confidence; he kneaded a bit more firmly, here, attempting to wring the tightness from David’s muscles. “Still good?”

“Still good.”

And it was. This was fine. He could do this. Just a bit more of Diarmuid easing some of the pain and tiredness in his body and then maybe he’d sneak off to the tub to wash the oil from his body and rub one out in the bathwater, thinking of other places Diarmuid’s hands could touch, before returning to the suite like nothing ever happened.

He thought this an extremely good plan and congratulated himself on surviving the massage when Diarmuid pulled back and said, “Done!”

“I’m all set?” David asked.

“On this side,” Diarmuid answered, so sweetly. “Now, turn over so I can do your front.”

**_FUCK._ **

What could he say? No, thanks, I’m good right now? Diarmuid would accept that, but he’d be disappointed and maybe suspicious—after all, why wouldn’t David want him to keep going with a massage that he’d been previously enjoying if only because he’d get a massive fucking hard-on? But if he let Diarmuid continue, watched him slide his warm, oiled hands along his chest, his stomach, the front of his thighs—there’d be no hiding how he felt, then.

_Then just fucking close your eyes, moron_ , he thought, suddenly, _Just close your eyes and pretend to fall asleep and don’t look at him_.

He turned, slightly, and saw that Diarmuid was heating more oil near the candles. David sat up so that his back was on the bed and his head propped up with a pillow, and adjusted the towel so that _everything_ that needed to be covered was hidden from view. Come to think of it, Diarmuid hadn’t said that he should get _completely_ naked, he’d just said to undress— _fuck,_ he should’ve left his boxers on, he was such a fucking idiot—

Diarmuid smiled at him. “Ready? I’ll finish up your legs and then maybe—what do you think of a face and neck massage? Would that be okay?”  
“Whatever you want,” David said, truthfully.

His hands were just as soft, the oil just as warm, but now—sitting up on the pillow had been a mistake, because David knew that he couldn’t look at Diarmuid between his legs without fantasizing about the most illicit scenarios, but at the same time he just couldn’t _not_ watch him, so pretty and earnest and determined to give him a relaxing evening.

David’s gaze flitted down. Diarmuid had crawled into the bed, knees on the mattress, and was humming happily again as he stroked upwards from David’s ankles all the way to his thighs.

“You—you being your own spa music?” David tried to joke. He swallowed as Diarmuid’s fingers came dangerously close to where the towel lay near his inner thigh.

“Does it bother you?”

He closed his eyes. “No, I like it.” The sound of Diarmuid enjoying himself, what could possibly bother him about that? There wasn’t anything more satisfying in the world than seeing him smile, hearing him laugh and gasp in delight. To have him content while he _spoiled_ David—God, that was something. What noises would he make if David massaged him? If he greedily grabbed and kneaded all the lean, toned angles and all the lovely, soft curves of his body and kissed his way up his thighs to lick at that pretty cock—

“ _Oh_!” David’s eyes flew open. The weight of the mattress shifted as Diarmuid scrambled back onto his knees, hand at his mouth, a dark pink blush spreading across his cheeks as he stared at the very obvious arousal beneath the towel.

_Jesus Christ_. David’s face burned with shame and embarrassment. If he got hot enough, maybe he’d burn a hole into the bed and through the floor and just fall to death. “I’m so sorry,” he said desperately, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Please, I didn’t mean—you just—you’re—“

Diarmuid’s stare shifted from between David’s legs to his apologetic, horrified face. He brought his hand down, slowly, ever so slowly, and placed it on David’s ankle. He rubbed a small circle there with his thumb. “David? Do you—if you want, I could—take care of that for you?”

His brain short-circuited. He stared at the younger man, incredulous. “You. You want. W-what?”

“If you’d like me to, I could—“ Diarmuid blushed and looked away for a moment. When he found David’s gaze again his pupils were wide and blown black. He said, more confidently, “If _you_ want me to, _I_ want to make you feel good.”

David ran a hand through his hair. “God, please. Please. All I’ve wanted this entire time was for you to touch me.”

The excited, relieved giggle that left Diarmuid’s lips was sweeter than anything David had ever heard. He eagerly pulled the towel off and to the side, gasping at David’s cock, thick and red and swollen with need. He wrapped his fingers around it, gave a few experimental pumps, and David threw his head back to the pillow with a loud moan.

Diarmuid bit his lip. “Oh, you’re so _big_. I thought you would be but it’s even more than I thought.”

David gasped. “Christ—you been thinking about me?”

“Yes.” Diarmuid looked shy. “I have. At night. I imagined you opening the door when I was—naked under the sheets and touching myself and—and you’d kiss me and take me right then and there. All night—just _fucking_ me until the sun rose, filling me with come.”

And here he’d felt guilty about jerking off while imagining Diarmuid hot and tight around his cock. “You still want that?” he asked. “We can do it now. Don’t know if I can go as long as that but—but I’ll fuck you as many times as I can tonight.”

“Please?” That puppy-dog look came back, gentle and hopeful, as Diarmuid stroked his shaft.

David tugged him away and into his arms for a kiss. “Whatever you want,” he said. Diarmuid melted into his embrace and nibbled at his lower lip. David couldn’t help but smile at the insistent, impatient little noises that the younger man made. Who would have thought? This entire time Diarmuid had wanted him, too. At least they had all of tonight, and two whole days afterwards to catch up. David was going to make him come in every part of the suite they could possibly fuck. The bed, the bathtub, the couch, over the kitchen table, pressed against the glass balcony screen.

Diarmuid kissed the corner of his mouth and pulled his shirt over his head while David unbuttoned his shorts and slipped them off.

As it turned out, Diarmuid hadn’t been wearing any underwear. “Fuck,” David said, mouth dry. His cock was hard and as pretty and pink as David had thought it would be. Just the right size for him to get his whole mouth around. “I want to suck you off.”

Diarmuid wriggled out of his grip, giggling. “Later. Right now I want you to fuck me.” He grabbed a bottle of massage oil from the basket.

“Let me,” David managed to choke out, “Let me do that, please. Lay down here and let me take care of you.” Diarmuid nodded and made his way back to the bed. He took David’s spot against the pillows, canted his hips up, and smiled.

He was suddenly acutely aware of how large he was now that he had a tantalizing view of Diarmuid’s rim. David liberally poured oil over his hands and slowly, carefully, pressed his forefinger inside of him, admiring how Diarmuid stretched around it. When he added another Diarmuid whimpered, knees trembling.

“Too much?”

“N-no, it’s just—I really, really want to feel your cock inside me.” He looked up at David through his lashes. “I want you so badly, David. I just want to be with you.”

If God struck him down right there and then he’d have considered himself a happy man. To hear Diarmuid tell him that, naked and beautiful and impatient for his touch. He slipped a third finger inside of Diarmuid and kissed his knee, reveling in the younger man’s soft gasp. “You know these past few nights I could barely sleep, thinking about how pretty you are? I wanted to—to show you a nice time. Thought maybe if you had fun this week you’d want to go out with me. Didn’t even think you already wanted me to touch you, too.”

“Oh, yes, please, I do—I want you, _please_ —“

Jesus. David eased his fingers from Diarmuid’s hole and scrambled for the oil. His cock was slick and throbbing and Christ, he needed to get inside Diarmuid _right now_. Crawling on top of Diarmuid, palms on either side of his curly head, he asked, “You ready?”

Diarmuid nodded. “I am. _Please_.”

He didn’t need another invitation. David sank into that tight, wet, heat at the same time that he pressed his lips against Diarmuid’s, drinking in the sweetness of his mouth and his satisfied moan.

It was frantic, desperate fucking. Diarmuid clung tightly to him, crying out with every hard thrust as David tried to make up for days of yearning. David rutted into him like an animal, almost on instinct, moaning loudly against Diarmuid’s neck as he pumped his cock in and out of him. He wanted it to last forever, but at the same time he wanted to come and fill Diarmuid up, and then he wanted to do it again and again and again. To fuck him so well and so much that when he leaned into David’s touch as they walked around the resort everyone would see from his content exhaustion and his flushed skin and the scent of sex on him that he was _David’s_.

The bed rocked back and forth with his thrusts, accompanying Diarmuid’s cries and David’s moans and the debauched sound of skin slapping together.

“David— _ah! David!_ I—I think—“

He pressed his forehead against Diarmuid’s damp curls, panting. “ _Fuck_. You close? Go ahead—“ He gave another sharp thrust. Diarmuid shivered. He wanted to watch, to see what he looked like in the throes of ecstasy as David continued to fuck him.

“David, someone’s—“

“Want you to come when I’m inside you.” He grinned against Diarmuid’s throat, nipping at his skin as the younger man moaned underneath him.

“No, I— _oh, God_ —David, someone’s at the door.”

David stopped mid thrust, caught off guard. The headboard, which had been steadily hammering a new entryway into the next room, stilled. He listened.

Someone _was_ doing their damndest to batter down their door.

Diarmuid laid flush and sweet against the sheets, his lips moist and glistening, his eyes heavily lidded, his pupils blown black. David swallowed. Had either of them ordered room service? If they didn’t answer the—the what, who brought that shit up, the bellhop? Jesus Christ, it was hard to think with Diarmuid so hot and tight around him. Whoever the fuck—would probably just leave a cart out in the hallway. “They’ll go away,” he insisted, bending back down to lick the sweat from Diarmuid’s collarbone. He rolled his hips in quick, hard thrusts, relishing in every short gasp that escaped from Diarmuid’s lungs.

“Oh, I—oh! _Oh_! _Nngh._ But they—they’ve been there so long already—ah! _Ah_!“ His nails dug into David’s shoulders even as he said, “P-please? It might be— _David—_ it might be important.”

He slowed once more as the knocking continued, followed by a muffled voice. Jesus, and the noise nearly drowned out Diarmuid’s soft, delicious little sounds. Maybe an— _fuck_ , Diarmuid had shifted slightly, pressing wet kisses all along David’s jaw, his cock hot and leaking against his stomach—maybe an issue with the credit cards or something. The payment. The thought of having to leave their room when they had just only begun an all-night lovemaking session, with Diarmuid so beautiful and warm and ready to be pleasured over and over—No. That was completely unacceptable. The sooner he dealt with whoever was at the door, the sooner he could return to Diarmuid, naked and wanting on their bed.

Diarmuid whimpered as David gently pulled out of him. He bit his lip and his hips canted up once more, instinctively searching out for something to stretch and fill him. David groaned at the sight and squeezed the base of his cock to stop from just spilling all over the younger man’s stomach. Diarmuid was a vision, unearthly; David half-expected him to disappear as soon as he took his eyes off of him.

He kissed him, running his tongue along Diarmuid’s upper teeth, panting, “Stay right there. Okay? Stay right there for me. Please.”

Diarmud collapsed back onto the pillows, his chest heaving. Two slick fingers lazily delved into his empty hole, slowly pumping in and out. “Hurry back,” he murmured.

A choked moan of confirmation was all David could manage. He pulled the canopy’s curtains shut so that Diarmuid could rest safely hidden from hypothetical prying eyes. The towel he wrapped around his waist was one from the pile of sheets ignobly swept to the floor. The front of it was stained with oil and his own precum and though he could strategically hide that there was no disguising how hard he was. He decided that was their problem, because he and Diarmuid could not have been more obviously fucking the living daylights out of each other.

When he swung the suite door open there was Geraldus, the asshole resort manager, mid-knock with a determined look on his face, and another, much older man, white-haired and well-dressed in a finely tailored light suit. The two of them stared in shock at David’s murderous expression, eyes widening as they took in all of Diarmuid’s little love bites that littered his neck and chest. Once their gaze hit David’s hard-on, straining against the ruined towel, both men started sputtering.

“S-sir,” said the older man, “I am the owner of this establishment, and, ah, I believe you are already acquainted with Geraldus, one of our managers. We are here to discuss an, er, a potential issue with your stay.”

David leaned against the doorframe. “Something wrong with the payment?”

“No, the issue is, ah, more to the integrity of the hotel’s programming and resources.” Geraldus nodded sagely behind the hotel’s owner.

“Can it wait? In the middle of something here.” He’d been very happily _inside_ Diarmuid, to be precise, but these two men didn’t have to know all the details. And surely power of observation indicated exactly what he’d been up to before answering the door.

But this reply seemed to enrage Geraldus, who waved a wagging finger in front of his face as though David was a misbehaving schoolboy and he was a stern teacher. “No, it _can’t_ wait, because you and your _partner in crime_ are taking advantage of our Romantic Couple’s Retreat! You’ve _desecrated_ the very nature of the offer and have all but _stolen_ the place from a pair of more deserving guests. If you had any decency the two of you would leave the premises immediately.”

He ended his speech with a smug look, like he’d presented a smoking gun that would lock David up for life. The resort owner looked a little less certain, but that may have been because David was quickly losing what little patience he had.

Really, what the fuck was this guy’s problem? So what if he and Diarmuid weren’t a real item? They were two paying customers, they’d given the place money for their good time, and, most importantly, Diarmuid was waiting for him in the bedroom. David gritted his teeth. “We’re on _vacation_ ,” he growled, “And we paid. We don’t got to leave for two more days, but right now you’re wasting the time we got left.”

To his astonishment, Geraldus just tried to push past him into the room, but David was a brick wall. Instead, the man snarled, “Where’s the other one? He needs to get out here, too.”

Fury rose in David’s chest. “What the fuck? No, he doesn’t.”

The resort owner shifted nervously. “Geraldus—“

David was nearly ready to drop the towel and just slam their faces down the hallway, but then Diarmuid’s voice, concerned but still low from arousal, called from behind him. “David? You’ve been out here for a while. Is something wrong?”

Three pairs of eyes turned to Diarmuid, one of the sheer silk sheets wrapped around his shoulders to just above his calves. He was also very obviously not wearing anything else. His skin was flushed, his hair was in an attractive disarray, his lips still swollen from kissing, and he stared at the group like a bemused fallen angel.

“No, sweetheart, it’s nothing. I’m so sorry. Just—hotel policy stuff. Go back to the bedroom. I’ll be there in a second. Right?” David turned back to the other two men, who had both gone red in the face. Geraldus looked absolutely flabbergasted.

For some reason Diarmuid’s eyes were sparkling. He beamed. “Oh, yes, of course! Okay! I’ll wait a bit longer, David!” His grip on the silk sheet relaxed slightly as he stood onto his tiptoes to kiss David’s jaw. As it came loose a flash of skin revealed glistening drops of massage oil running down his inner thighs. David suppressed a moan as blood rushed to his once-flagging erection. He watched, practically drooling, as Diarmuid all but skipped back to the bedroom.

The resort owner cleared his throat. David had completely forgotten he and Geraldus were there. “Geraldus, I think you should wait in my office while I finish up here,” the man said. Geraldus was staring after Diarmuid’s path to the bedroom. David growled and moved to block his line of sight. “ _Geraldus_ ,” the man insisted, “My office. Now.”

As the manager wandered off looking completely dazed, David faced the older man.

His forehead had broken out with beads of sweat. Mopping at his face with a handkerchief monogrammed with the hotel’s logo, he said, “There’s been a very terrible misunderstanding here. A complete error on our part. Please, forgive us.” He dripped perspiration and apologies. “I sincerely hope this hasn’t ruined your stay, and I promise I will personally make it up to the both of you.”

David grunted. “It happens,” he said. They both knew that this sort of thing had never happened in the history of the hotel. The owner looked grateful and relieved to not be thrown out a window. “But, yeah, we would appreciate it.” Maybe they’d get a free dinner before they had to check out. Or Hell, maybe they could keep the nice bathrobes and a pillow or two.

The man nodded. “Of course, of course. You’ll be completely taken care of.” For a moment his gaze slipped down to David’s crotch, where he was still, despite everything, hard against the towel. With a start his eyes flitted back to David’s impatient expression. “Ah, my best to you and your very beautiful partner.”

“Right.”

He managed to refrain from completely slamming the door in the owner’s face but it still swung closed with quite a bit of force. David locked it, then unlocked and locked it again, just to be certain that they were safe against further interruptions.

David dropped the towel and practically sprinted back to their bedroom. There on the canopy bed Diarmuid sat cross-legged, back against the headboard. He looked shy.

“You called me ‘sweetheart,’” Diarmuid murmured.

David blinked. When had he—Shit, at the door. “I’m sorry,” he said, “It just slipped out. I won’t say it again if it bothers you.”

But Diarmuid merely shook his head. He slid down against the pillows once more, spread his legs wide and beckoned David towards him.

David complied. He’d have been powerless to deny Diarmuid even if he had wanted to.

Diarmuid wrapped his arms around his neck and pulled David back down on top of him. They were pressed so close that Diarmuid’s eyelashes fluttered against his cheek. “I liked it,” Diarmuid said, voice full of desire and hope, “I liked it when you called me that. I could be your sweetheart, if you wanted me to be. Not just here. All the time.”

Laughing with joy David said, “Yeah? You want me around forever?” He took hold of his cock, red and aching once more, and pushed back into Diarmuid. “ _God_ —you sure? Won’t let you go.”

Diarmuid’s nails scrabbled at his back as David began to snap his hips as Diarmuid clenched around him. “Oh, _David_ , please, I want that, I want that, please, _please_ —“ His moans turned into high keening as David found his prostate and rammed him again and again and again. Pressed together, chest to chest, David could feel Diarmuid’s hard, leaking cock trapped against his stomach. Each and every time David’s hips bucked into him another dribble of fluid leaked from its tip.

“I’m not going to last—“

“I want you to come. Fuck, _sweetheart_ ,” he moaned, and Diarmuid suddenly went rigid, “Diarmuid, baby, you feel so good.”

Diarmuid clutched David close as he arched his back and spilled between them, smearing the both of them in a hot, sticky mess. He’d expected Diarmuid to scream and cry as he came, but—infinitely better—instead he nuzzled into the crook of David’s neck and whimpered and _mewled_ as he tightened around David’s cock.

For a moment David slowed as Diarmuid trembled from his orgasm. When he lay there boneless and gasping David licked into his open mouth. He bit his wet, pink lower lip and reared back, resting on his knees, looking on as Diarmuid lay dazed and spent and gorgeous and exhausted on their bed.

Then he took hold of Diarmuid’s hips and rammed into him at a frenzied, furious pace that had David panting and groaning each time he buried himself to the hilt into Diarmuid’s well-fucked hole and that had Diarmuid’s toes curling and fingers grasping the sheets as he writhed from overstimulation.

“Come in me?” Diarmuid asked, his voice a little tearful, “Please?”

“God, fuck yeah,” David growled.

Diarmuid bucked his hips up and gasped, “ _David!_ ”

That was it. It was too much, to hear Diarmuid call for him so desperately and with such longing. No one had ever looked as debauched as he did, freckled skin flushed pink and streaked with his own cum, his brown curls mussed and damp, his lips moist and parted in a plea as he _begged_ David to fill him up.

He lasted two more thrusts and then on the third moaned and dug his fingers so hard into Diarmuid’s hips they were surely going to bruise, shaking as rope after rope of hot, thick cum spilled inside of his lover. David collapsed on top him. The younger man gave a soft, delighted sigh and kissed at David’s throat, sucking at his steadily slowing pulse as he rolled through each wave of his release.

“So much,” he crooned, giggling when David pressed a kiss to his mouth. “ _Mmph!_ Stay in me a bit longer?”

David nodded, sated and exhausted. “’Course.” They cuddled for a time, rubbing and nuzzling each other, kissing and sighing into one another’s mouths, until David had gone completely soft. When he finally pulled out of Diarmuid he saw, with no small amount of pride, that Diarmuid was _dripping_ with his cum. It ran down his thighs as he stepped out of the bed and stretched. David reached for another towel but was stopped in his tracks as Diarmuid idly ran his fingers along the inside of his legs and then popped them into his mouth, sucking them clean.

He smiled. “You still taste _salty_ , David.” Then he winked. David’s spent cock gave an extremely interested twitch. “I want to take a bath. We could—continue in the tub, if you wanted?”

Voice hoarse, David said, “Yeah. I’ll be right there. Give me a minute.”

“I’ll get the water ready.”

As Diarmuid disappeared inside the bathroom David padded to the kitchen, mind whirling. In less than a week he’d experienced some of the many amenities available only at a five-star hotel, had the best sex of his entire life with a gorgeous lover, and said gorgeous lover wanted their fake relationship to be real, which was—It was all excellent, save one thing.

He was going to have to thank Alex for wrangling him into this, the motherfucker. David owed him big time. If he hadn’t been such a busybody in the first place then some other guy would’ve been here enjoying Diarmuid’s company, walking with him in the gardens, talking to him at dinner, pounding him into the bed—

David blinked back the sudden film of red blurring his vision. Jesus, he was really and truly done for, wasn’t he? Shaking his head, he grabbed a champagne bottle and two glasses so that they could have a drink in the bath before turning in for the night. As he made his way back to the bedroom he noticed something that something had been slipped under the doorway to the hall.

It was a very official looking envelope, slightly off white, with an honest to God wax seal stamped with the hotel’s logo. Was this how the owner was going to make it up to them? Maybe it was a free dinner after all, some sort of gift card. But instead there was only a letter, neatly typed on stationery. David read it, frowning.

_Dear Sirs,_

_Please accept my most sincere and humble apologies for the abhorrent intrusion on your privacy earlier today. I was falsely misled by one of our managers, who was concerned that the two of you might be taking advantage of the hotel’s couples package. His paranoia was, of course, totally unwarranted and his actions abominable. Rest assured that he has been severely reprimanded. I too, am at fault, as I should have curbed his behavior before it reached the point of barging in on such an intimate moment. Again, I apologize for this appalling mistake on our part._

_Please do not think that this is the usual procedure at our hotel. Our sole mission is to have our guests leave content, relaxed, and satisfied. I would hate for this incident to mar any happy memories the two of you have made thus far in your stay and for this to be your first and only impression of us. If it is amenable to you, please accept my offer to either extend your stay for another week, completely free of charge, any and all amenities included, or schedule another week’s holiday at any time, also completely free of charge and with any and all amenities included._

_I patiently await your call and decision. Please do not hesitate to ask further questions if needed. I will happily answer them._

_Respectfully yours,_

The owner had signed his name with an illegible flourish. David reread it twice. Then he finally made his way to the bathroom where Diarmuid soaked in clear, steaming water. His eyes fluttered open at David’s footsteps.

“There you are,” he said, smiling, “I thought you got lost. What’s that?”

David set the champagne flutes down on the bath’s ledge. He popped the bottle’s cork—Diarmuid laughed with delight, clapping his hands together—and poured them both a drink. Then he handed Diarmuid the letter.

Grinning at Diarmuid’s shocked expression as he read it, David asked, “What do you say after breakfast tomorrow we take another walk in the gardens? Or you can go back to the spa, if you want.”

Diarmuid laughed again. “Well, we still have an entire week. I’m sure we can fit a whole lot more into the itinerary.” Then he opened his arms wide and welcomed David with a kiss as he stepped into the tub to join him.

“Whatever you want,” David said, gazing into Diarmuid’s eyes. “Just you and me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end to what little plot there was to this fic. :) Thank you for reading. 
> 
> This started as a Discord brainstorm with Diarmuid and David just having sex everywhere in a luxury resort, and I'd still like to do that. So while the "story" part is finished, I will still be updating this fic from time to time with, essentially, just spicy luxury porn scenarios.


End file.
